


Lonesome Hunter

by N_Layne



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Original Character(s), Sex Change, Shapeshifting, Slow Romance, Violence, love or lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 98,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_Layne/pseuds/N_Layne
Summary: When Vesuvia's apprentice magician is approached in the night by a mysterious figure, she is given a proposal so outlandish that she just can't refuse it. Nadia Satrinava, Countess of Vesuvia, wants a necromancer's help to solve the murder of her late husband's death. Within the Palace, a spectre has awakened, and he demands to have his desires known. Using the powers bestowed within the magic inherent to Morand, the shapeshifting apprentice agrees. Before she knows it, her very existence is shattered and dark truths are unveiled. Perhaps, those who lie to us are the ones closest after all. (A retelling of Lucio's route in the Arcana.)
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. Scary

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy! So, I posted my doc in chunks of paragraph instead of your typical paragraph and indent structure because I feel as if the former is easier on the eyes. Tell me what y'all think.

**Scary**

“How did I get here?” Morand groaned in the darkness of her temporary living quarters. All around her was luxury she couldn’t afford. Her bedsheets were a satin purple. A massive canopy covered her from the rest of the bedroom.

Pinching her temples, she looked at silky soft bedding which would cost her over a year’s worth of rent money. They had been twisted all around, a side effect of her fitful attempts at sleep. White and gold pillows were carelessly thrown about the headboard, and as for herself…

Well, Morand’s naturally wild hair was hanging half in her face and half in the air. Angrily, she rubbed the side of her fist against her skin to scrub the sleep from her eyes. All night, she had been haunted by the sounds of the palace.

It wasn’t every day that the formerly elusive Countess of Vesuvia came knocking on a shop keeper’s door in the dead of night. More than that, it was only once in a blood moon that aforementioned countess enlisted said shopkeep to play detective over the murder of her three years dead husband.

To say that this past week had sent Morand from one extreme to the other would be wording it lightly. Now, she was treated to the finest luxury money could afford, and all she craved was the single bed that she occasionally shared with her master.

Her master. Hmph. Just the thought of him made Morand’s upper lip curl. There was no way Countess Nadia had been looking for Morand last week. No, she had to have been on the hunt for Ass-ra, and that little rat had the audacity to go on another “important journey” just when the rent for the shop was coming due.

Oh, she was going to throttle him the next time they laid eyes on each other. If he and that stupid hat of his had just stayed at the shop for one more day then Morand would be in her cozy little store with all of her favorite incenses. The magician knew Morand always got into trouble when he was gone.

Last time he’d returned from a journey, Morand had been three joints deep with the local baker in the shop’s backroom. Now, he’d return to an empty shop and his assistant roaming the city for a plague doctor accused of murder. He was in for a real treat this go around.

But a murder investigation? Gods, what had she gotten herself into?

Slinging her legs out of the bed’s sheer canopy, Morand tried to ignore the way the heavy palace groaned throughout the night. Her own shop settled often enough against the stone streets, but it wasn’t half as heavy as this giant keep. She felt like the palace was trying to talk to her, like it had so many secrets but wasn’t sure what language to tell them in.

As the apprentice to a great magician, Morand took that feeling to heart. Why, only three years ago she’d woken to the sight of her master’s worried face. Asra had been hovering over her, eyes wet from some unknown distress.

She hadn’t understood the words he’d said that day, but she’d seen his lips moving. In her heart, she knew her master to be a good person, the one who had saved her from events she couldn’t recall. So far, she hadn’t been wrong.

Ever since that day, she’d never doubted her instincts. Yet, the feelings she got from the palace were strange. Sometimes, they felt hostile. Other times, they would feel merely curious. In her first day of being here, a presence dark and burning had drawn her into the charred remains of Count Lucio’s wing, to the place where the Count of Vesuvia had been burned alive.

From that moment, Morand had continued to feel watched. Was it the palace that gave her the feeling of foreboding, or was it the goat bodied creature with eyes starved and crimson?

Frowning, Morand gave her jet black curls a hard shake. They tumbled around her face in hunks. It didn’t take a genius to realize that sleep would be a feat only the gods could achieve for her, so instead of crawling back to her twisted nest, Morand pulled back the bed’s canopy.

Instantly, movement had her head jerking. Lighting her hand in fuschia tinted magic, electricity sparked up the tattoos that coated her arm. Then, she scowled.

In the corner of the bedroom, a massive mirror stood. Golden nailhead trim glittered in the sparks of her magic, and from the middle of its depths, Morand’s reflection glared back at her with teeth bared for battle. Head falling backwards, she groaned loud and long.

Scared of her own reflection. Ugh! Stupid attractive countess and her appeals to Morand’s vanity. Truly, the apprentice was a creature of simple pleasures. She liked food, drink, and adventure. When Countess Nadia had given her three out of three, Morand might as well have been lured in by a hand on her pumping, red heart.

Wind rattled the lock on the window, and Morand glared at it. Eyeballing the gilded framing, she peered beyond square panes of transparent glass. Surprisingly, the sun wasn’t as low as she’d thought it would be. No, dawn’s reaching fingers gave the tops of green trees a blaze of pink.

Portia would come to check up on her in a few more hours, but Morand doubted she’d be able to keep herself entertained in the bedroom for that long. She needed something to do. Tapping a tattooed finger on her wide hip, she looked from her freshly laundered clothes to the bedroom door.

She _was_ here to investigate Count Lucio’s murder, and she _did_ have a lead to go on. She might not have a prestigious number of solved murders under her belt, but she could perform a seance. Besides, no normal investigator could talk to the dead like she could. Morand had built her life’s work around the dead, the disturbing, and the dangerous. What was an oversized palace to her skills as a magician?

Decided, Morand plucked a hair brush off a small vanity and beat her curls into submission. Once she could rightly say she didn’t look like a rat that had stepped out of Vesuvia’s sewers, she pulled on a pair of billowy harem pants and the one sleeved belly top she’d brought when she’d first come to the palace.

A single bell sleeve draped all the way down one arm before splitting up the side. The other arm had a wide band that sat just off her shoulder. As far as shirts went, it wasn’t the most practical, but it was one of the better outfits she had for an audience with Countess Nadia. After all of that was in place, Morand snagged her potions bag.

Jars of herbs, some old spellbooks, and her personal grimoire rattled around. Within the sack, she had all the basic items for standard spell making. Unfortunately, she didn’t have everything she would need to communicate with the spectre in Count Lucio’s wing.

It was a good thing Nadia had a taste for the beautiful things in life. With ease, Morand plucked up all of the candles she could reach within her bedroom. Some had been infused with scents like vanilla or lavender, and while Morand had never used scented candles for her seances, she was sure the ghost wouldn’t complain. Any ghost extravagant enough to haunt the Vesuvian palace had to be the type to enjoy luxuries.

Packed and ready to go, Morand bopped out of the bedroom and into the guest wing’s main corridor. Much like the rest of the castle, this wing was coated over in gold. Multitudes of arches went down one after another to support this mammoth palace. Between them was exquisitely handcrafted display tables and artwork.

Eyes ceilingwards, Morand was entranced by shiny baubles hanging from a chandelier. Tall, ivory candles had been blown out, but wall torches illuminated sparkling gems strung on thin gold chains. They weaved between arching iron candle holders. Underneath such wonder, Morand felt small and insignificant.

How much money was invested in this palace? Why would someone spend so much on their home when an entire district of the city was flooded? Half of Vesuvia spoke kind words for its former count, but Morand couldn’t remember him personally.

Her oldest memory had been the one where she’d opened her eyes onto Asra’s tightly drawn, white brows. After she’d relearned how to walk and talk, he had told her of the count’s vanity, his excess, and his rages. A dying man was surely one to be leary of, but Lucio had apparently been one of the worst.

Licking her bottom lip, Morand wondered if the creature within his rooms was, perhaps, the count himself. It would be a rare feat that a person died and came back in the form of a goat, but Lucio did seem to be a trendsetter. Curiously, Morand wondered what her ghost would look like as she wandered the halls.

Minutes passed while she maneuvered her way through the maze of Palace Vesuvia. It took getting turned around three times and asking the head cook for directions before she found the “haunted” wing of the palace. At the steps leading within, two gorgeous hunting dogs lounged.

Upon seeing Asra’s apprentice, the smaller dog popped open a ruby eye. Her movement woke up her male counterpart, and the dogs appeared happy to see her. Fluffy white tails thumped against the floor.

If Morand wanted to be honest, she wouldn’t say she was as happy to see them. Did she like mystery? Oh, absolutely. Did she like adventure? It was a basic criteria for how she lived her life.

What she did not like was being messed with, and the last time she’d see her ghost/goat/goast friend, he had way too much fun toying with her. Nose tilted upwards, Morand pursed her lips. Hmph. They would see who would be messing with whom when she summoned his hairy ass from the depths of the netherrealm.

Determined, Morand set her shoulders back and marched like she was headed for a warzone. The dogs seemed to sense her shift in attitude. They cocked their heads at her, watching her quizzically.

Surely, the “goast” was tied to the goings-on of the palace. Morand could see if it had any answers about Dr. Devorak or the death of Count Lucio. If her presumption was correct, who better to know who’d murdered him than the count himself?

The doctor may have pronounced himself guilty after the murder, but his story was riddled with holes. Only Valerius had done anything about the doctor. The consul had even admitted to the courtiers watching like confused chickens when Julian was slinking from the count’s quarters. If they held Lucio in such high regard, then why weren’t they leaping at the chance to apprehend his supposed murderer?

Filled with more questions than leads, Morand was surprised to feel a shift in the hall’s temperature. Claws clacked behind her, and she turned to see the dogs standing on their step. Their fur shifted against a warm breeze.

The air went through Morand’s curls like someone was running a hand through it. She shook her head. Creepy ass palace.

The deeper she walked, the dimmer the hall lights grew. Just as the first time she’d wandered this way, the corridor’s darkness was accompanied by an increase in temperature and the feeling of eyes on her every step. The worst part, though? There were no eyes to see.

Despite the hallway being lined with painting after portrait of the count, all of their eyes had been shredded through. Blank holes stared deeper into her soul than any human pupils could.

This entire wing was a stark contrast to the beauty Morand had walked through to get here. Sconces and chandeliers had thick layers of dust like no one had spared a second of time in this space. Grime laid along all of the golden frames of the count’s portraits. 

Morand shook her head. If the goast had time enough to gouge out his own eyes, he could at least pick up a rag and a broom. Compared to this place, Nadia’s rooms were a form of heaven.

She had a light perfume in her space, a hint of lavender. There were colorful fabrics made of purples and pinks, effeminate yet mature. How someone so seemingly tasteful could have been with a man who kept this many self portraits blew Morand’s mind. Had the marriage been arranged? Had Nadia been drugged/drunk/delusional?

A sulfuric odor drifted by her nose, and Morand scrunched up the skin there. Sulfur was a scent that went with ghouls, volcanoes, and foul magic. For some reason, Morand doubted Count Lucio had a magma chamber hidden under his bed, so she suspected the scent came from the other two.

When the light got so dark she could barely see, Morand summoned up her magic. Electricity danced in the trails made by her tattoos. The band around her throat gave out just enough light so she could see a foot or two ahead, but it was as if the miasma of evil coming down the hall was suffocating her glow.

She was only a few feet away from running into a large, wooden door when it swung out in welcome. Heart bouncing in her chest, Morand reared back. The glow of her tattoos revealed decorative carvings, and she concentrated light in her palm to see just within the threshold.

Nothing moved from inside, but the heat was definitely coming from this area of the wing. Morand slowly swallowed her saliva. She was looking into the count’s bedroom, the lair of the beast.

Ash drifted from the bedroom to the hallway. It danced along the draft, carrying pieces of the count’s murder to the feet of his portraits. The little piles were like dark offerings to the palace demon.

When Morand attempted to take a step inside, she frowned at the mild quake in her calves. “Come on. He’s just a ghost,” she argued with her muscles.

Though her head was determined to step right into that room and demand the goast have an audience with her, her body wasn’t as convinced. It was as if it was trying to turn tail and head back to the shop. She had nothing personally invested in the nobility of Vesuvia. She had no contract, no sealed agreement.

Rulers came, and rulers went. The rich stayed rich, and the poor stayed poor. She was lucky to be considered somewhere in the middle of that totem pole. If she left, it wasn’t like she would be inclined to come back, but there was one issue.

Morand had given her word. When Morand the Apprentice gave her word, Morand the Apprentice did as she claimed. She’d completed enough promises to high dive off cliffs into the seas and pick up strangers at bars that she couldn’t go back on her word. It would damage her street cred.

Besides, it wasn’t like she’d come into this wing half-cocked. She had a bag of spells, runes, and magical gobbledigook. She could talk to this goast. It was what she’d come all the way over here to do.

Inhaling for strength, Morand took her first steps inside. The breeze released upon the door’s swing was still swirling. It toyed with the ruined curtains of the count’s four poster bed like a cat swatting a toy.

Nerves caused Morand’s magic to crackle louder. It grew just the least bit. A few more inches of illumination climbed across the floor before dying out. Whatever had welcomed her inside was weighing on her magic, like a flame starving for oxygen.

It was irritating. Shaking her hand like someone would do to give air to a match’s flare, Morand deepened her scowl. She was so busy waking up her magic that she didn’t notice goosebumps creeping across her skin.

Behind her, something moved. The light in her hand went dark to the tune of the count’s rattling bed frame. Fist balled, Morand raised her hand against a heavy desk. Upon it, a white peacock feather gave a lazy wave.

Ugh. This goast wasn’t going to make this easy on her and just show up, was he?

_Keep calm, Mor. You talk to the dead on the regular. This isn’t your first corpse,_ she coached mentally. Slowly, she inhaled, held her breath, and released a sigh for calm. To the presence in the room, she said, “Er… hi.”

A whine made her soul go on a hasty journey to the astral plane before coming back home. Turning on her heel, Morand was relieved to see Mercedes and Melchior. The larger dog gave a chuf then trotted over. He watched her with curious big, red and black eyes. His narrow paws left prints on the soot coated floor.

The dogs must have followed her into the room. Truthfully, she hadn’t known what she was expecting to see when she’d heard them. Her goast friend would have taken a fist through the incorporeal face then laughed as she’d recovered. Curious puppies were a much better end result.

Once they were satisfied with her staring, the two dogs milled about the room. Shiny, black noses twitched against the warm air. Looking for something?

Curious, Morand followed Mercedes. The smaller dog was on the trail of something. Ash blew around her nostrils when she nudged a large, wooden chest. Scorch marks had been laid into the wood, and with enough pressure, it gave way against Mercedes’s black claws.

The lid broke off, and something golden rolled onto the floor. Sitting amidst the ash was a prosthetic arm. Long fingers stretched out at Morand in a beckoning gesture.

“Well, how do you do?” the apprentice muttered.

A swirl of warmth blew across the room, and Morand whipped around. Beside her, a voice hissed, “Mine.” Movement rustled the fabrics left over from the murder, and the voice repeated itself with more force. “Mine!”

The shift of attention had Morand’s eyes jerking towards the portrait in the room. Count Lucio’s proud figure looked off in the direction of his prosthetic, and she noticed the portrait’s arm was identical to the metal laying on the floor. Attachments for its gauntlets and armor were scattered in the remains of the chest.

Unintentionally, Morand repeated, “Well, how do you do?”

Mercedes must have wanted to answer the question because she brought the arm over to drop it before Morand. Dust, ash, and doggy drool smeared across what should have been gleaming metal.

“Eh… Thanks, ‘Cedes.” As she reached to pluck it off the floor, the dogs decided to wander around the room some more. Perhaps to bring Morand even more mysterious goodies?

Blinking down at the arm, Morand frowned. Mine. That single word confirmed Morand’s suspicions more than anything else could have. The goast really was Count Lucio, and Count Lucio was haunting his murder scene like a stubborn bloodstain.

It was nothing short of perfect for her. Fear suppressed, Morand got down on one knee to rummage through her bag. Lucio’s arm would make for a perfect focus for a seance. All she’d need to do is circle off a safe space where she could concentrate.

Setting to her task, Morand made quick work in the room. She created a wide circle in a spot with a bit less ash than the rest of it. With a snap of her fingers, she lit a single candle then used it to light all of the others. Drama reasoned that she could have lit them in one fell swoop, but she wanted to reserve a little bit of power, just in case her goast friend got violent.

From the circle’s center, she took her seat and sighed. Ah, yes, this was much better. As the light adjusted, the miasma seemed to thin. That sense of wickedness and sulphuric poison eased.

Mercedes and Melchior took notice. Their noses twitched upon the scent of fogwood candles. It twisted through the room like it was on a journey to smoke out the evil.

Determined, Morand took the prosthetic into her hands. Unlike before, the gauntlet covered hand felt warm to the touch, the fingers creating heat as if they were alive. Every inch of the arm had been infused with magic, an older signature from the prosthetic’s birth.

No average magician could produce such skill, such mastery. Morand felt like she was holding a living piece of history in her palms. Carefully, she brushed away the drool and ash. With each stroke, the arm began to hum.

“Beautiful,” wisped through the room.

Brows rising, Morand looked up to see a ghostly hand coming out of the darkness. Ebony claws reached out for the arm. They would have touched the metal had Morand’s magical circle not kept them away.

Outside of the candle’s flames, she could make out the shape of the goast. His red eyes burned through the darkness, making black shadows somehow blacker. Curious, Morand used one hand to stand up. The other stayed on the gauntlet.

To the goast, she spoke, “I know who you are… Count Lucio.”

A snarl growled from somewhere low in the spectre’s chest. It was a wounded kind of sound, almost like someone groaning in despair. The noise echoed in the dusty room.

If Morand expected the dogs to be wary, she would have been sorely disappointed. Their ears perked up at her address of the goast. As if he had just noticed them in the room, the creature’s eyes lost some of their wicked glow. Unfortunately, it only lasted a second.

Piercing eyes returned to stare into Morand. She felt like a star on the other end of a telescope, seen as if from far away and studied. More importantly, he was looking _at_ her—not _through_ her. They could communicate.

The pressure tensing her muscles eased, and Morand felt like she’d lost about ten pounds of weight. She wasn’t dealing with an evil ghost or some wicked netherrealm creature. She was looking at a man… Or, maybe, man was a strong word. The guy’s goatishness ruined that.

Hand out, Morand tilted her head to the side at the spectre. “Come here. Come into the light, and let me see you.”

Stepping closer, Morand could really study him now. She would have taken the time to observe, but the goast spoke. He complained, “It’s about time! Has everyone finally come to their senses?”

Morand blinked once. Then, she blinked twice. That hadn’t been what she’d thought he’d first say. “What are you—”

“Me!” the creature lamented. “I’m talking about me! No one worthwhile ever came looking for me.” He paused to stalk dramatically, his hooves scraped the floor as he paced.

“I was abandoned, forgotten, tossed aside! Me! Lucio, your beloved Count.” He shivered. “Oh, I’ve been so lonely…”

A solid minute had to have passed before she realized her jaw was loose. Snapping it shut, Morand placed a hand on her hip. She explained, “Er, everyone in the palace was frightened. They said this wing was…” Morand gestured to the count’s goatliness. “You know, haunted.”

Lucio shook his horned head and snorted, “Haunted. Dimwits! I’m not haunting anything. I’m just… I’m just…”

Biting the inside of her lip, Morand realized she had nothing to say. Here she was talking to the goat bodied spectre of the murdered count and instead of getting right down to business, she was chatting with him. Was that a proper investigator tactic? She doubted it.

Her silence didn’t last for long. As if he couldn’t take the quiet, Lucio asked, “Did anyone come with you? Or were the all too _fwightened_?”

Shaking her head, she mentioned, “I came here alone.” Melchior snorted and looked up at Morand as if offended. It was hard for her to not smile, but she adjusted, “I came here with Mercedes and Melchior.”

If goast’s could deflate, Lucio made it an artform. He dramatically curled into himself, looking small and fragile. It was the stance an abandoned child would take, and one that called to Morand’s hypersensitive parenting instincts.

She was lucky he didn’t keep the posture for long. Angry, he gripped his face in his claws. “I knew it!” Lucio roared. “I knew it. Well, I refuse to be forgotten so easily.”

Thoroughly confused on how a goast was going to go through with that refusal, Morand tried to keep the conversation tame. “You’ve been here in this wing for three years? Ever since the last Masquerade?” He nodded, and Morand saw her opening.

“So, what happened? Why didn’t you leave? There has to be somewhere more interesting than all of this.” She nodded at the char and debris that had to be insulting for a count to live in.

Lucio looked at her condescendingly. “Oh, please. Give me a little credit. You think I haven’t tried to leave? I can wander for a little while, but something keeps pulling me back. Is… is it because I look like this? Am I not fit to be seen?”

His pinky finger separated for one red eye to peer at her. His voice was soft when he asked, “Do you think I’m scary? Are you going to run from me, too?”

Morand had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. Him? Scary? She had a hard no on that one. She was the type of person who woke the corpses up on Samhain, the kind of person who strolled into a haunted wing of a palace so she could ask the resident goast a couple of questions. The scariest part of this situation had been the demonic energy that most definitely did not resonate from him. Now that it was gone, she would happily play fetch with the dogs using Lucio’s arm as a stick.

Keeping her poker face, she replied, “No. I don’t think you’re scary.”

Head tilted, the goast pulled his teeth back in a disappointed grimace. Though his eyes sparkled with excitement, his mouth told another story. He asked, “You don’t?”

Stepping closer, his hooves clacked, but there was no impression on the ash. The dogs wagged their tails at him despite not coming closer. Did they know he couldn’t give head pats in this form? Now, that was the real horror story.

With a smile, Morand noted, “They don’t think you’re scary either.”

“Oh, that’s… good.”

His disappointment was obvious in the low groan of his voice. Quickly recovering, he straightened his back. “I was hoping to make an impact, you know? Be a bit more impressive.” He put his thumb and forefinger a small distance away from each other in a measuring motion. His eyes stayed on Morand even as he faded away.

Did she upset him? Her answer was a shudder running through the room. It was powerful, shaking the floorboards and running a scraping sound across the walls. Regardless, nothing touched her circle of candles. The flames danced but remained unfazed.

Materializing behind her, Lucio’s sharp teeth flaunted an angry grimace. “How about that? Was that scary?”

She gave him a playful wince. “Needs work, bud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, yo! What up? Name's N_Layne, and it has been one hell of a long time since I wrote fan fiction. Hopefully, I'm not too rusty. I'm your average fun-guy that grows on the south side of rotting tree stumps to tell travelers nonsensical tales which causes them to get even more lost in the woods. As for this bit of fiction, I was drawn back into the Arcana thanks to Count Luci-ho. This story will feature sex scenes, violence, and more likely than not bad puns. My character Morand goes by a male and a female name because of reasons which will be later explained. I hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think. I always like to grow as a writer.
> 
> Side note: This isn't a straight up retelling of events. I'm going to add more on Morand's side of things since I feel she should get more spotlight as I am her mother/creator/egg-layer and actually know her past. Adieu! Auf Wiedersehen! Finally, in Southern, Bye, y'all!


	2. Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owl-righty then. I've got the rough idea that I'm gonna try to post about two chapters a week. Hopefully, that'll actually pan out. (Fingers crossed) Enjoy today's second chapter!

**Witness**

She was brave. It was a fact Lucio could begrudgingly admire. Even after his attempt to scare her, she stood there with a small smirk playing on her lips.

Those lips were full and pouty. They fit her mischievous face in a way that was extremely appealing. Had Lucio a proper body, he doubted he would have resisted the temptation to speak with her. Then again, when had he ever resisted temptation?

Through the fingers on his face, he growled, “Tough crowd, aren’t you?”

She simply shrugged him off. Smiling over her shoulder, she replied, “I can see you. I know you’re here. What reason do I have to fear you?”

Her hand stretched through the space between them. Where his were coated over in white fur and black claws, hers were tattooed. A strange symbol, some kind of cross between a horseshoe and flower petals, faced him. As for her nails, they had been filed to sharp points and painted black. The look was witchy and befitted a magician such as herself.

As if on a whim, the air from the hallway blew inwards. For the first time in years, his bedroom felt cooler. He shivered. The movement ruffled the white fur of his body.

The magician looked curiously at him. Her head was slightly tilted, and her lips were parted in wonder. When she touched his hand, he felt the smoothness of her skin. She was tangible, alive, things he wasn’t.

Just as surprised as she looked, Lucio breathed, “You’re warm.”

Unable to help himself, he twined their fingers together. His claws lightly brushed against her wrist. There were hints of calluses against her palms. Why would this attractive, witchy woman have calluses?

Staring at where their fingers were joined, he commented, “Real… alive… everything that I’m not.”

He could hear the envy in his voice. Were his senses still intact, he had no doubt he’d be tasting venomous the words in his mouth. He wanted his form back. He wanted to breathe clean air. He wanted out of this damned filthy bedroom!

Surprising him, the little magician came closer. Only one of her slim feet stayed in the light of her magical circle. The other stood in the darkness with him.

Now that she was within his reach, he wanted to touch more of her. Her heat seeped into him like he was drinking it. Sliding one hand up her arm, he stared at her.

She was attractive. Her hair was the darkest color he could imagine, jet black with the strangest hint of purple. Her nose was aristocratically straight but a little too wide to be considered feminine. If he was entirely honest, she could have been as beautiful a woman as she looked as handsome a man.

Were her slinky top not filled with large, full breasts she could have passed as an attractive young male. Well, the breasts and her wide hips. They were the kind that made riding pants look skin tight. He’d bet her backside was as appealing as the front.

Still, there was something beyond the beauty, and it called to him with urgency. The tattoos that trailed from her fingertips to her neck and below the material of her billowy pants glowed. She resonated an energy that he could feel in this translucent form.

“And your magic… It’s so strong,” he breathed.

She blinked up at him with eyes the color of fuchsia petals. They reminded him of the hanging gardens along the palace’s rooftops. He was staring into her black lashes when she replied, “You can sense my magic?”

He made some noise between a huff and a grunt. Hands still on her, he added, “It’s all around you. Your… aura, or whatever that’s called.”

Candle light flickered between them. It illuminated the woman’s face in dancing flames. Fire looked good on her, and an idea flung itself into his head.

“You’re a magician. You could help me.”

“Help you?” She pulled out of his grasp and crossed arms under her breasts. The action pulled her flowing shirt in closer, revealing even more ochre brown cleavage. “How?”

Snorting, he gestured around at himself. What didn’t she see? She had that hair, those hips, and that face. Of course, she couldn’t understand how terrible his predicament was.

Pointing out his hooves, fur, and overall goatishness, he explained, “Looking like this was a fun novelty, but I’m over it now. I’d be very grateful to anyone who could throw some magic my way.”

She didn’t look inclined to help, so he offered a smile. His teeth were little more than an assortment of canines, but a man had to work with what he had. When she stepped fully into her circle, his heart sunk.

She said, “Listen… I’m not sure if I can help you, but I did come here to get answers about how you died. Maybe, if I knew more—”

Tearing his head from its downcast expression, he pinned the magician with a steady glower. “Answers? What good are answers when I look like this?” Hands flung away from his face.

They didn’t get too far because he used them to rake claws through the fur of his scalp. “Ugh! I just want… I want…” He pointed to his favorite portrait. “That! I want to be beautiful again. You could do that for me, couldn’t you?”

Admiring a portrait that had been done since before the madness of the plague, Lucio gingerly ran his claws down the canvas. He described, “Perfect hair, powerful arm, flowing cape… Ah, I was magnificent. You could make me look like that again.”

He looked at her from over his shoulder. “Oh, and don’t forget the fur trim. I’m very partial to that.”

Eyes looked him up and down as if he were some statement piece in the palace foyer. He knew what he looked like. Reminders of that weren’t needed. Still, he kept quiet as she contemplated. No matter how badly he wanted to beg.

Her lips twitched up at one corner before she grinned. “You’re already covered with fur.”

Groaning, Lucio flashed sharp white teeth at her. “Ugh. Very clever, magician, but you know what I meant!”

Once more, she shrugged him off. Her attention went from him to the painting then back again. Whatever she was thinking needed to happen quicker because he was beginning to lose his patience. When she went to pull a spellbook out of a worn out backpack, he quickly followed.

Eager to see what she was coming up with, he leaned over until his chin was almost laying on her shoulder. Had he all his senses, he would have been able to smell her hair from this position. As things were, all he could do was watch her flip through old pages, some dotted in blood.

“Well? Well?”

“Be patient. I’m trying to read.”

“Patient? Patient? It’s only been three years already!”

His anger came with a rush of hot hair. It snuffed out some of her candles, and she sighed. Closing the book, she sashayed over and snapped her fingers to relight them. Her reddish pink eyes pinned him with a powerful glare. “Now, you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Curling a lip, he strolled over to his lovely hunting dogs. Their tails dusted the floor in their happiness to see him. To the dogs he grumbled, “Patience, she says.” From their corner, he settled in for what would surely be an ageless wait.

There was nothing for him to do as he waited. Her thumb came up to her mouth, and she licked it with a flash of her pink tongue. There might not have been anything to do, but it wasn’t as if the magician was hard to look at. When she gave a shiver, he wondered what she’d read to make her react like that.

“Count Lucio?” she abruptly chimed in a singsong voice.

Leaping clean from his corner, Lucio nearly tripped through the candles in his haste. The sight of them was so bright. He had to adjust his charge else trip through a heat far too great for those measly candles.

“You can do it!” he cried. “Of course you can. I had a good feeling the moment I saw you.”

One dark brow rose. She didn’t believe him.

“I can help you look human again… but there’s a catch.”

“Fine. Whatever you need to do. Just do it!”

She shook her head, and he rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids. When he opened them, she said, “No. Listen to me. You need to understand. If I cast this spell, your spirit won’t be connected to this wing of the palace.”

He cut her off, “Great! That’s even better—”

“You’ll be connected to me. You’ll go where I go.” She arched a brow in question. “Are you sure you want me to cast this spell?”

That was what had her so concerned? A laugh blew from his lips. It was a low, soft rumble in the air. “At least, you’re cute. Better you than this stuffy, old place.” When she didn’t get right to it, he bounced on his hooves. “I agreed, didn’t I? Go on, then!”

Sighing at him, the magician balanced his prosthetic on her palm. The spellbook sat wedged between her black inked hip and her arm. When she wrapped her hand around the sharp claws of the gauntlet, Lucio barked, “Whoa, whoa! What are you doing? That’s sharp!”

“I know that. It’s kind of the idea.”

Easily, her flesh gave way under the claws of his gauntlet. Blood ran in a crimson stream through the veins of the arm. The very air in the room changed. The veins of the arm glowed a vibrant red. It bathed the room the color of blood.

When the room’s ash swept up, Lucio’s heart raced. Hot wind created a vortex of black, engulfing him entirely, but he had no fear. All he could feel was excitement. There was change. He had faith in the magician’s power.

Wind blew the fur on his body. His mouth opened on a thrilled laugh. Magic was surging all around him. He was a single man amidst a tornado. Black and red swirled. The sound of rushing wind held a background of his hound’s yelping.

Then, suddenly, a cool breeze blew across him. The suffocating warmth that he’d felt for so long receded, and he gasped, “It worked?”

Jerking his head around, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to look at himself. If he looked at his hands and saw claws, he would lose his ever loving mind. Eyelids parting, he focused on the floor. “Right… Right, yeah. It worked.”

When he looked up, he saw a soot covered mirror. His amazed expression peered back at him in the form of a man! In the same form he’d been in before the plague had come to Vesuvia. Not only had the woman brought his form back, she’d made him look years younger. If he had coins, he’d tip her.

Grinning from ear to ear, he spun. His cape billowed behind him with a flourish that he reveled in. “Mercedes, Melchior, daddy’s back! Did you miss me?”

Immediately, the dogs leaped from the corner. Their tongues lolled from their narrow snouts. Smiling at them, he asked, “Do you want some fresh air? Yes, you do! And so do I!”

His sentence didn’t get out before the dogs were bounding out the door. They heard the words “fresh air” and knew the command. Turning to the magician, he flaunted his fur trimmed cape. “Are you coming? You don’t want to hang around this gloomy place, do you?”

She bit her lip on a grin, and he smiled with her. Around them was torn curtains, an ashen bed, and debris from a murder. Who in their right mind would hang around here? Her grin said she was thinking the same thing.

Lips half upturned, she replied, “Nope. Not really.”

He waved her on with a superior hand motion. “Come on, then. There’s something you should see.”

* * *

_Asra, I did a bad thing,_ Morand thought as she followed Lucio into the hallway. It wasn’t hard to keep track of the Count. He walked beside a pair of dusty pawprints.

Looking back at her, the Count explained, “I know all the secrets of this palace. This is just one of them.”

He didn’t give her any time to speak before turning a corner. The last thing she saw of him was his backswept, blond locks. When she caught up, she curled her lip at a blank stone wall. The dog’s prints stopped just in front of it, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Morand’s hands clenched in excitement. Was it a secret door? She hoped it was a secret door.

Count Lucio slid right through the stone. His translucent form melded with the grey walls before going through completely. He wasn’t gone for long before he popped his head back out and gestured for Morand.

She couldn’t hold back. Eagerly, she pressed on. Her palms laid flat against the cold stone, and she beamed. Magic washed all over her body. A strange, tingling sensation eased up her legs, and shadows rushed past her despite her stone still stance.

Then, she was pitched forward. Catching herself on lush green grass, Morand laughed. Yes! It had been a secret door. Oh, she loved secret doors.

Around her, birds chirped their morning song. A gentle breeze ruffled the sleeve of her top. She knew this place. They were in the palace gardens, but what kind of portal had taken them here?

A voice broke her ponderings. Up ahead, Lucio sighed, “Ahhh, sunshine. Wind, fresh air, freedom!”

She bit her lip on the word freedom. She doubted anyone would consider freedom as being shackled to her for the indeterminate length of this spell. The poor man.

Soon enough, Lucio came striding through a hedge. He pushed branches away in his wake. Now, that was a development.

The spell must have made him more corporeal. Perhaps, Mercedes and Melchior could finally get the head scratches their adorable selves needed.

Getting to her feet, Morand looked for the portal. There was nothing there but topiary and a stone arch covered in vines. Oh, she loved the old magicks. Portals were an ageless classic.

“Pretty neat, huh? The palace is full of weird portals and secret passages. Perfect for eavesdropping, if you know what I mean.” He winked at her.

Oh, did she. Morand was a regular nosy weasel herself. On more than one occasion, she had snuck through the city to watch Asra. Sometimes, he would return from journeys without telling her. Other times, he was hunting old mysteries. Yet, she could never follow him beyond the city walls. He must have some ward on her.

A bark distracted her, and she looked at the shrubbery. Mercedes and Melchior were on their way. They burst into the clearing, tails wagging.

The Count put his hands on his knees and cooed to them. “Who wants to play fetch? Go! Find a stick.”

The dogs barked, jumped, and tried to reach Lucio’s face, but they never did look for a stick. They basked in the reformation of their master. When the larger dog came over, Morand smiled at him. His tattered ears were radar alert, swivelling towards her.

Beside her, Lucio commented, “Aw. Look at that. Melchior likes you. Don’t you, boy?”

Soon, the smaller dog trotted over. She almost knocked Melchior over to get to Morand. Lucio proclaimed, “And Mercedes…” A confused expression drew his dark brows together. “Likes you, too? Weird. She never liked anyone else before.”

As the dogs weaved between Morand and Lucio, she winked at the Count. “I have that effect on people. It’s because I’m criminally cute and all that,” she snickered.

“I won’t argue that.” He tossed a hand towards his borzoi hounds. “My dogs always want attention. Go ahead. Pet them. They won’t bite you.”

Not one to have to be asked twice, Morand held her hands out to the puppies. She cooed as they sniffed. “Sweet boy. Beautiful girl. Who’s a good puppy?”

The two began to bounce around, long legs moving in the grass. Sunlight came and went underneath them with each movement of their shadows. Before Melchior could get scratched, Mercedes shoved her long snout into Morand’s palm.

The dog’s fur was so soft under her hand. The animals were perfectly clean, groomed to a pristine degree. Not to be outdone, Melchior whined, and Morand scratched him between his torn and good ear. It was an initiation for belly rubs. Flopping down, Melchior spread out one leg and kicked his back paw until Morand reached down to pet his hairy belly.

Lucio commented, “Not everyone appreciates how beautiful they are. Aren’t you, my lovelies?”

Kneeling beside Morand, Lucio joined in on the rubs. The dogs licked at his face. Melchior twisted around until he was getting a tummy rub from Morand at the same time as kisses from Lucio. The Count’s pleasant laughter was a clear bell in the magician’s mind.

“Ahahaha! Stop, you’ll get drool all over me! I just got handsome again.”

The dogs didn’t care at all. They ignored his protests and continued to crawl closer. The Count’s protests were only half hearted. Shrugging, he let persistent Mercedes knock him to the ground. Lucio went down with an “oof”.

As if to keep him in place, Mercedes positioned herself across his chest. Melchior trapped Lucio by laying over his legs. Translucent hands laid on each dog. His fingers ran through white fur.

Morand had no choice but to laugh with him. It was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. Everyone she knew had a familiar but her. Animals were too perfect beside their loving masters.

Still, Lucio did try to get back up. He ordered, “Mercedes, Melchior, up!”

They didn’t budge. Licking the Count’s ears, they told him exactly what they thought of that command. Bracing his hands on the ground, he tried to move, but there wasn’t enough force behind his press. His half there, half somewhere else state kept him trapped.

With an exhalation, he decided to slump backwards. Arms splayed out, and he closed his eyes to the sun. Dappled light filtered through the tree limbs. It made dark spots on his white skin and the eyeliner/warpaint under his eyes. The Count looked thoroughly at peace with his fingertips curling around manicured blades of grass.

He sighed, “I could stay here forever. It wouldn’t be such a bad fate.”

Lifting his head over Mercedes’s shoulder, he looked up at Morand. “That is… unless you want to give me a hand?”

Morand shook her head and crossed her arms. “Nuh-uh. I think you look perfectly comfortable where you are.”

“Oh, yeah? Want to join me?” He gave an insufferable wink.

“Sure. Why not?”

When the Count patted the grass beside him, Morand sat down. She didn’t want to disturb the two pups. They looked entirely at peace, making up for lost time.

For the most part, Mercedes ignored her, only stretching a paw out as if to say, “You can sit down, but this is my daddy.” Melchior was more forgiving. He stretched his long legs until they laid in Morand’s lap. Absently, she stroked the dog’s hind quarters.

Stretching out, Lucio released a long, content sigh. “Ah, this reminds me of the good old days. It was just me, Mercedes, and Melchior. Hunting and travelling across the land.” He looked down at them. “You want to do that again, my darlings? I’ll bet no one’s let you hunt anything in years.”

But the two didn’t seem to be in the mood to hunt. Melchior yawned. Mercedes chuffed. Ears drooped down, they settled in for a quick nap.

“Alright,” Lucio chimed. “Have it your way. No hunting. Just napping.”

He shifted his leg and moved his arm. The motion popped Mercedes with an elbow, and she grumbled. Irritated with their owner, the dogs loped off him to take up positions on a sunny bench. From this distance, their white coats seemed to glow.

Getting to his feet, Lucio brushed fur and grass off himself. “Huh. That’s a problem I didn’t have before.”

“Before?”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know, when I was more… ghosty.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Ah, yes. Ghosty.”

“Whatever magic you did was… uh, good.” Looking uncertain, Lucio shifted his feet in the grass. Dust billowed up and drifted on the breeze.

Morand felt her lids move down in a soft look. For the Count, that was probably the closest she’d get to a “thank you”. Deciding that discomfort made good leeway to a grill session, she asked, “Then maybe, you could answer some questions for me in exchange?”

His brows scaled towards his hairline. “A few answers for a spell? That’s the easiest deal I’ve ever made. We can talk, but not here. Let’s head to the fountain.”

She frowned at him, a mild purse of her upper lip. “Why?”

He smirked. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but most people can’t hear me. If anyone’s eavesdropping, they’ll think you’re talking to yourself. The fountains will drown out your voice if you keep it down.”

_So speaketh the eavesdropper,_ Morand observed, but she nodded approvingly at him. People already thought Morand was two sheets to the wind on most nights, but this was daytime and she didn’t have any whiskey. The last thing Countess Nadia’s guest needed was rumored insanity.

“It’s your show, my Count. Lead the way.”

Her answer obviously pleased him. Mouth turning up at both corners, he twirled his cape with dramatic flourish. Lucio called out, “This way, then.”

Thanks to the way his cape slowly drifted on his self made breeze, Morand decided following the Count around wasn’t that bad. Instead of fur, this form of his sported a pert little butt tucked into a pair of tight, white pants. She’d follow a nice ass around any day.

Still, Morand had to wonder what Asra would think of her being bound to Lucio. Her master had made it no secret that he thought of the former count as self-absorbed, borderline narcissistic, and highly prone to rage. Yet, Asra had never told her why.

She rubbed the pad of her index finger over her thumbnail in contemplation. From what she’d seen of Lucio, she could see the self-absorption. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with her until he’d realized she could provide him something he wanted. That also meshed with his supposed narcissism.

As for rage… Yeah. That one was pretty obvious, too. The gouged eyes on his old portraits were proof alongside the tales she’d heard from the palace staff. Those who had gone down the halls of Lucio’s wing had reported violent waves of heat, things being thrown at them, and wretched screeching.

All of the traits looked like someone had grown up as a spoiled brat. Morand grinned. Yeah, she’d just bet the Count had grown up as the spoiled firstborn of some great leader. She could see his parents spoiling him with good food and toys.

Would Asra be angry that Morand connected her spirit with Lucio? He’d walked in on plenty of strangeness with her before, but being tied to the Count of All Goats was something not even she had ever imagined doing.

After a short walk through arching vines and the scent of honeysuckle, Morand followed Lucio to a flower encircled fountain. High shrubbery made this area more secluded than the rest of the garden and sunlight made the fountain’s water glitter like spilled diamonds. From the treetops, shafts of sun pierced through Lucio’s form. It made light rest where his shadow would have been.

Perching himself on the edge of the fountain, Lucio tapped his fingers on the stone. He began, “So… You wanted answers, but where do I even start?” His voice was exasperated as if he were telling her the week’s latest drama instead of the origin of a three year old murder mystery.

Then, his hands rubbed together gleefully. “Oh! How about this? Nadia has you hunting for the wrong person.” He threw a hand up like the idea was ludicrous. “That hack doctor didn’t kill me. You’re barking up the entirely wrong tree, dear Morand.”

Though he was leaned back and looking smug with his arms folded against his chest, Morand’s brows drew inwards. A little crease formed atop the bridge of her nose. “You know my name? I didn’t tell you,” she observed.

“I have ears, you know. Even when I was…” He held up two fingers on either side of his head to mimic goat horns. “People at the palace love to talk, and I had nothing better to do than eavesdrop. I know all about Nadia’s plans. You, the Masquerade, the manhunt for Jules…”

He paused to smile towards the glittering water. “I do love a good party thrown in my honor, and I appreciate the dramatic touch of hanging Jules as the opening act. But, the party rooms sound so boring, and there isn’t enough gold trim in the—”

Morand cleared her throat to keep the Count on topic. “If Julian Devorak didn’t kill you. Then, who did?” Her arms came up with fingers outstretched like he could put the answer into her palms.

Lucio shook his head at her. Face twisting to a scowl, he proclaimed, “Obviously, I’m not dead, or I wouldn’t even be here. Talking to you. I’m… I’m just…”

A large, white cockatoo flew overhead. Its loud screech filled in Lucio’s drifting quiet. The sound inspired him. “I’m stuck! I’m not really alive, but I can’t move on either.”

His gauntleted hand laid against the fountain’s edge. Sinking claws into the stone, he left it with a set of four, thin lines. Red filled sclera looked directly at Morand, and Lucio barked, “Do you have any idea what it’s like? I see the sunshine, but I can’t feel its warmth. I smell the kitchens baking at night, but I can’t taste a thing. And sometimes I hear things in the darkness…”

Ghostly fingers ran through his blond hair. They raked it back from where a few strands had tumbled towards his face. Grey irises disappeared behind his pale eyelids, and the Count drew his brows together in frustration.

“I don’t give a damn about Jules, or Nadia’s little investigation. I have to move on from this… this… from whatever’s happened to me!”

Curious, Morand crossed the distance to sit beside her new companion. She looked into his face, studying the irritation in his curled lip and wrinkled brow. “How would you move on?” she asked.

Mid-rant Lucio halted to blink at the apprentice. Only one word drifted from his mouth. “What?”

Not backing down, Morand held his grey eyes with her fuschia ones. She pressed, “You don’t seem to be truly dead or alive, so there are only two ways you can go. Back into life, or on to whatever comes after death.”

He reared back like she’d bitten him. “Well, obviously I don’t want to die. I haven’t even partied with—”

“You want to come back to life? That’s what this is all about?” She tsked at him.

“Hey, hey, don’t judge me. Wouldn’t you want to live again, too?”

Morand grinned. Yeah, if she was trapped as a ghost, she supposed she could see the Count’s point. Being trapped in the beyond was one hell of a headache. She heard enough of those “things in the darkness” when she communed with the dead. They were different from the lulling voices of Asra’s tarot deck, darker and with hints of malevolence.

The Arcana had a more comforting voice and tone. The High Priestess was typically confident in her voice, sure of everything she had to say. Then, there was Death. Their voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper atop a light breeze.

If they were the only things she heard, it wouldn’t be all that difficult to talk to the dead. Any magician could do it, but no, Morand had to go beyond the Arcana. She had to speak to those gods who obtained souls. She also heard the temptations of those creatures who traded in souls.

They were wicked. They were evil. They asked, begged, and bartered to gain any of the things they desired in life: pleasure, pain, and more. Dealing with them to get the dead to speak to the living was enough to give her nightmares after a successful session.

Yet, she decided to keep her answer to herself. She didn’t want to sway the “mostly dead” Count from whatever destiny had in store for him. On the bright side, she now knew what Lucio desired.

She would have gladly helped him out if she had the power. Unfortunately, she was nothing but an apprentice. Only one person had the talents required to bring the mostly dead back to life, and he was off one another stupid journey—without paying the rent.

When the name came to mind, Morand sighed, “Asra.”

“Huh?”

“My master. He’s a very capable magician.”

“Oh, yeah. Asra. You know, he and I go way back. I bet he’d jump at the chance to help me out. For old time’s sake.”

Morand’s lips pressed together on a sour expression. For some reason she really doubted Asra would want to lift a finger to help Lucio out. Asra had been at the palace during the plague. He may not have talked about that time, but Lucio had been brought up more than once.

Luckily for the Count, the magician would consider Morand’s predicament a bad thing. She would bet her left hand that he’d help out just for the sake of unsaddling her from the Count’s spectre.

Lucio asked, “So, where is Asra?”

Morand tried to hide the bitterness in her voice when she replied. “Travelling. And, don’t ask because I have no idea where.”

“And, I don’t suppose you know when he’ll be back either,” Lucio pouted. She shook her head, and Lucio crossed his arms over his partially exposed chest. “Ugh. That’s just like Asra, disappearing right when I need him.”

_Tell me about it,_ Morand thought. Regardless, she said, “In the meantime, I need to talk to Nadia.”

“What? Why?”

She drilled him with a stare. Was the Count that daft, or was someone avoiding their wife? “You just told me that Dr. Devorak didn’t kill you. Nadia can’t execute an innocent man.”

Lucio laughed. His head went back as if she’d just dropped the world’s greatest punchline. Hands on his bouncing ribs, he chuckled, “Of course, she can. She’s in charge. She can do whatever she wants.”

Frowning, Morand replied, “Nadia wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t execute an innocent man.”

Lucio gave her an aren’t-you-cute look. “That’s nice of you to say, but sometimes Vesuvia needs a reminder of who’s on top. I knew that. Nadia does, too. But, if it bothers you that much, go talk to her. I’ll just be here, enjoying the sunset.”

She laid her hands on her hips and leaned inches away from his half there/half not there face. Noses level with each other, she explained, “Oh, no. You’re coming with me to talk to Nadia. You’re…” She searched for the word considering that he was the victim of his murder. “You’re a witness.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I can’t just tell her all this without any proof.”

Lucio sighed then rolled his eyes. Slowly, he pulled himself from the fountain like it was some great feat. “Fine. At least, you made me presentable again.”

“You’re welcome.”


	3. Impatient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what day it is??? MONDAY!!! Yeah, usually I wouldn't be so excited about that, but I have my two chapters for this week already written. I did a little minor editing (I typically don't full scale edit fan fiction). If anything looks whack, holler, and I'll see what I can do. Enjoy! ~ Signing off, N-Layne

**Impatient**

Feeling like she was sneaking a new pet into her parent’s house, Morand made her way back into the Palace. Though she walked proudly in a way that dared anyone to ask her what she was bringing inside, she couldn’t help but cast her eyes towards the ghost in the room. Servants passed her by, some giving a soft smile, but none of them seemed to notice Lucio.

In time, she came upon the chamberlain. Their hands were fretting around a lamp. Carefully, they tilted the lampshade this way and that. Every now and again they would lean back to make sure it was just so-so.

Floating behind her, Lucio leaned in close. At her ear, he whispered, “Heh heh heh. I should prank the chamberlain. I never liked their stupid hat.”

Sure enough, he faded from view into a nearby wall. When he reappeared, Morand bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. Lucio gave her a wink as he reached towards the arrangement of feathers atop the chamberlain’s head.

Ever the devil herself, Morand didn’t speak. She continued forward and watched Lucio from the corner of her eye. Soon, the Count was within striking distance.

“Let’s see,” he mused with a hand on his hip. “That feather would look much better on me.”

Plucking a bright red plume from the hat, Lucio giggled. He swept his hand across the chamberlain’s face. The tip of the feather twisted around the tip of the chamberlain’s nose.

“What the—” Their words were harshly cut short by a loud sneeze. The sound reverberated down the hall, causing a few lingering servants to turn their heads. Wide eyes met Morand, and the chamberlain lit up the color of a ripe tomato.

“Erm. Allergies.” They gave a sniff. “Yes, this place is drafty, and I’m, er… allergic to a good breeze.”

Morand nodded along apologetically.  _ Of course, you are, _ she thought.

Still bright red, the chamberlain scurried off. Once they disappeared behind a corner, Lucio drifted back to spot behind Morand. The feather twisted between his playing fingers.

With a tilted head, he examined Morand. He observed, “You know, I thought this thing would look better on me, but on second thought, it would look pretty good on you, too.”

After twirling it against his face, Lucio tucked the stem of the feather behind her ear. He looked extremely satisfied with the corners of his eyes crinkling from his grin. “Magnificent,” he purred. Offering his arm, he teased, “Now, shall we?”

She could only shake her head at him. Truly, if she had to apply an animal to Lucio, she would pin him down as a terrier puppy. He was the kind of creature who liked to play but often bit down too hard on their playmates.

Suppressing her smile so people wouldn’t think she was a total freak show, Morand continued to search through the Palace. The shenanigans she had gotten into with Lucio had taken a serious hit on the hours of the day. Morning and evening had blended together. By the time she found Nadia on the veranda, it was already dark outside. Stars twinkled far above the ground level hedge maze.

The Countess looked the very definition of regal as she sat on a carefully crafted wooden chair. She sipped from a delicate tea cup while talking to someone Morand couldn’t quite see yet. When the figure came into view, her jaw loosened.

Immediately, the man on the veranda beamed at her. His straight, white teeth made a beautiful smile, and he greeted, “Hi, Morand. Did you miss me?”

Nadia took note of the interaction and shifted to look towards the glass paned entryway. “Ah, Morand. Excellent timing. I was just about to send for you.”

The clink of a teacup was accompanied by Asra standing from his chair. He only got in two steps before he froze in place. His eyes grew wide. They stared over Morand’s shoulder as if a demon had appeared.

The telltale tingling of magic caressed the air. It sent the fine hairs on the back of Morand’s neck straight, and Asra threw a hand out in a warding gesture. He barked, “Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

Nadia’s brows climbed up her forehead. “Asra, why this alarm? I told you, Morand is assisting me with—”

The magician quickly shook his head. “Not Morand.  _ Him _ .” The word was heavy with disdain.

Jabbing a finger over Morand’s shoulder, Asra directed everyone’s attention to the spectre in the room. The apprentice grimaced. Well, so much for easing everyone into a conversation with the mostly dead.

Guiltily, Morand rubbed the back of her neck. “Er. Yeah. That was kind of what I was wanting to talk to you about.” Hoping to get a little backup, she sent Nadia a pleading expression with her big eyes.

The message was received because the Countess stood up casually. “As surprised as I am by Lucio’s presence, perhaps, we should take this conversation somewhere a bit more…” Her words faded when two gardeners walked by the edge of the hedges. “Somewhere more private?”

* * *

Straight backed and feeling like a scolded child, Lucio sat at Morand’s side. A few snacks sat on the table in front of him, and the tea that had been poured moments ago had long since grown room temperature. Yet, despite the seriousness of the situation, all Lucio could think about were the freshly baked cookies getting stale before his starving eyes.

Across from the Count, Nadia slowly massaged her temples. She looked to be nursing a headache. He was, too, and all because every time he reached for the cookies, his hands went right through them. It was migraine inducing!

He gave a final try as Nadia spoke, “So, my ex-husband is a ghost and haunting the person I hired to investigate his murder. Then, the man who confessed to that murder, Dr. Devorak, did not commit the crime.”

She exhaled on a pained sigh and drew her brows inwards. Next, she added, “In that case, who did kill him?”

Lucio’s voice piped up at the same time as Morand’s. She cried, “No one did. Lucio told me—” while he barked, “No one killed me, all right? I’m not DEAD. It was just a little oopsie.”

The Count shook his head, sending blonde hair about his ears. “Why is that so hard to understand? Oh, and seriously, ex-husband? Is that all I am to you, Noddy?” His gaze shot to the beauty beside him before returning to the Countess, and he explained, “Well, we can both move on. I’m okay with that.”

With those words weighing the air, Asra pulled his face away from the guilty stare at his feet. The magician threw a look at Lucio that would turn a lesser man to stone. He growled, “What’s done is done. Now, we need to figure out what to do about… this.”

When Asra gestured to Lucio, the Count snarled, “What am I? Some kind of curiosity? What have I done to deserve this treatment?”

Completely ignoring the other man, Asra gave a soft look to his apprentice. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself, Morand. I should have been here for you.”

Lucio had to give the apprentice some credit because Morand didn’t show any of the rage he would have had he been abandoned like that. Instead, she drew up one leg over another. Spreading her arms along the back of the settee, she frowned with one corner of her lips.

“Why  _ did  _ you leave? What was so important?”

“It’s not important anymore. Not as important as helping you.”

For some reason the gentle conversation between the two magicians made a muscle in Lucio’s face twitch. Morand was trying to help  _ him _ , and if Asra would quit running his mouth, she could do just that. He interrupted, “Yes. This is all very heartwarming, but what about me?”

Smiling serenely into Lucio’s enraged face, Asra replied, “Sorry, but did you say something? Because I didn’t hear a word.”

The Count gaped back at him in horror. Morand must have sensed his rage through their connection because she politely asked, “You can’t hear what he’s saying?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

Oh, that insufferable… He damned well could hear him! Lucio clenched and unclenched the hands at his sides. He howled, “What?! All right, we’re going to have words, right here and now!”

Staring deeply into the rich color of Asra’s purple eyes, the Count focused all he could on getting inside of Asra’s head. There was resistance coupled with a look of surprise on the magician’s face, but it gave way with another mental push.

Immediately, Lucio waylaid the bastard. “Three years!” he roared. “For three years, I’ve been trapped inside my own quarters—forced to relive the pain of burning alive on the anniversary of my birthday—and not a single person  _ ever  _ came by to help me!”

Asra’s upper lip curled in disgust, but while Lucio’s mouth was moving, Asra only spoke mentally. “And the minute someone does go looking for you, you convince Morand to do your bidding? Do you get off on making people do your work for you?” the magician snapped back.

“And do you get off on abandoning Morand, so that you can go frolicking through the woods. Or whatever it is you do when you leave her by herself!” Strangely, that upset him almost as much as Asra’s attitude towards him did.

“You do not bring her into this!”

“Why the hell not? You brought her into this the moment you decided to leave her behind, and by her expression, it seems that you do that to her a lot!”

Asra’s eyes narrowed into twin slits that threatened to burn holes into Lucio’s skin, but instead of giving more into Lucio’s baiting, he growled, “Rude.”

From across them, Nadia cleared her throat. The Count’s now, apparently, ex-wife re-centered the conversation. “If we could return to the topic at hand?” To Morand, she stated, “Morand, I greatly appreciate your efforts to prevent Lucio from haunting the Palace. However, permitting him to haunt you seems a… temporary solution at best.”

Asra joined in by saying, “I completely agree, Countess, but a permanent solution may not be so simple. Lucio’s condition is unusual. Morand, your description of his goatish form is proof enough of that. Some sort of magic must’ve got awry with him…”

The magician stood up to examine the room’s ghost. The examination rankled. He was not some statuary to be poked and prodded at for another’s amusement.

Suddenly, tingles went through his body, and he looked to Morand for assistance. Her eyes were as wide as his? Did she feel the magic Asra was probing around at him with?

To her, he asked, “Uh… what exactly is he doing?” The magic disappeared upon the question, and Morand made a noncommittal gesture with her eyebrows and opened palms.

Sitting down on an armchair, Asra’s eyes went distant. He was lost in his own thoughts for a few seconds before coming back to reality. “Well, we could bring him to the magical realms.”

Morand tapped her sharp nails on the back of the settee. “The magical realms?”

“You’ve seen them before, when you spoke to me through the fountain. You were talking to my spirit, in an otherworldly realm of magic.”

Understanding came with a lift of Morand’s blackish-purple brows, but Lucio waved his arms to bring the attention back to himself. “Hey, hey! I am not on board with this. I haven’t heard a single word about bringing me back to life. That was the whole point! Tell Asra, Morand. Tell him what I want!”

Arms crossed under her breasts, and she shook her head. “No. Tell him yourself. You’re a big boy, and you don’t need me to speak for you.”

Asra exhaled. “Is he really asking you to do that, Morand? How typical of Lucio…”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it—” He broke away from Morand’s mind to dive right back into Asra’s thoughts. They were just as confusing and annoying as they had been moments ago.

Directly in Asra’s mind, he huffed, “I can’t believe I’m having to explain myself to you, but Morand understands me. I want to be brought back to life. This… this whatever is going to drive me insane. How would you feel if once every year you had to relive the feeling of fire on your skin? Of magic burning the very soul out of your body?”

He shivered at the memory. It was awful. On the anniversary of his death, Lucio would be compelled back to his bedroom. There, he would be held down by an invisible force.

No clawing would bring him off his ashen bed. The room would burn bright without any explanation. Body still on the bed, he would recreate the death rattles breathed through his plague ridden lungs. He would feel like something was pulling his soul clean from its mortal prison.

Asra glowered at his continued begging. “All right, all right. Shut up already. I wasn’t done explaining.”

The magician dismissed the Count to look at Morand. She was still sitting in his greeting room as if she owned the place. One leg was casually twined around the other. She was leaning into the settee as if waiting for a painter to begin her work.

To her, Asra explained, “Morand, we can find evidence of what happened to Lucio if we bring him to the magical realms. Before trying any more magic, we should learn why he’s like this in the first place.”

Lucio audibly growled. Bristling, he bit out, “Morand, are you hearing this? He’s just dragging his feet! I opened up my home to that urchin years ago, and this is the gratitude I get?”

As if compelled, his feet began their irritated pacing. Teeth grinding, he gave a kick to the salon rug. It didn’t even flutter.

“There is one more thing,” Asra intoned. Grey eyes narrowed on him, and Lucio waited for him to hurry up and finish his thought. “The magical realms aren’t physical. A wayward spirit like Lucio would have more presence.”

_ More presence, _ Lucio scoffed mentally. Whatever that meant.

Asra sighed and shook his head. “He’d be able to interact with the realm. More than he can with our world.”

Muscles moved on their own, and Lucio’s jaw went slack. “Well, why the hell didn’t you say that in the first place?” Already, he jumped towards the door.

* * *

Morand chewed on the inside of her lip when Lucio charged confidently through the doorway. If she didn’t have her front teeth down, she would have groaned. No wonder Asra didn’t like him. Her master never did have time for childish complaining.

Nadia stepped towards her and said, “I had forgotten how exhausting he was. I do feel for you, Morand.”

“So do I,” Asra added.

Shrugging, Morand tried to summon anger towards the Count but came up dry. For some reason, his behavior bore a slight resemblance to someone she knew. She couldn’t bring up the name or face without the hints of a memory induced headache rearing its ugly head, but she did think she was close to someone about as fickle.

“He’s fine. I think I’d be impatient, too, if I was forced to haunt my own unwashed gravesite for three whole years,” she commented. To her words, Nadia’s eyes widened, and Asra looked like he wanted to dig himself into a hole.

Nodding to her, Nadia mentioned, “Now that the wing isn’t being haunted, I could have some servants sent in to clean his wing. They should be able to work in peace if they aren’t being attacked by floating vases.”

Morand smiled at the Countess’s kind gesture and looked at her master. He had risen from his chair. Draining the contents of his teacup, he patted around in his pockets. After finding what he was looking for, he mentioned, “If the three of us are going to another realm, we’d best get moving.”

Lucio poked his head back through the doorway. “The three of us?”

Morand beamed. “You’re coming with us, Asra?”

“Of course. I said I wanted to help, and I meant it. Travel across realms is dangerous at the best of times. Especially with a loose cannon like Lucio in tow.”

Jerking his head backwards, the Count in question barked, “You know what?I don’t have to stand here and listen to you insulting me. And you shouldn’t listen to him either, Morand. What a jerk.”

He stomped outside of the room without a second glance, and Morand glanced at the closed double doors. Beside her, Asra asked, “Does he even know where he’s going?”

She shrugged. The Count wasn’t too far. Morand could feel his anger through their invisible thread of connection. He had to be lurking in the hallway. She could just imagine the toe of his black, leather boots tapping against the stone floors.

“He hasn’t gone far. Just in the hall.”

“Good. Let’s get him to the magical realms before he does anything rash.”

Morand finished off a cookie and the rest of her tea while Asra whispered something in the Countess’s ear. It wasn’t her business, so Morand strolled over to the door. Bag slung across her body, she raised a brow when Nadia nodded at the magician.

The Countess commented, “Of course, I will take every precaution. You have my solemn word.”

“Thank you, Nadia. And Morand?” The apprentice perked her head up at her master’s call. Asra walked over to stand just in front of her. Lowering his voice, he said, “About Lucio… you don’t know him as well as I did. He makes enemies as readily as he makes friends. Please, tread carefully.”

Nodding at him, she replied, “Of course, I will, but he does have something on you.”

Asra’s eyes went wide. His mouth formed a surprised oval with just the slightest bit of his pearly whites showing. “He does?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t have to pay me for the rent.” She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers.

The motion made Asra’s face split into that beautiful grin Morand knew so well. Laughing, he pulled a multicolored and hand stitched coin purse from a pocket in his long jacket. After withdrawing some coins, he winced. “Can I get the rest of it to you once we’re done here?”

Morand blinked at the coins. Two of the gold ones weren’t even Vesuvian currency. The silver one was just a flat, shiny rock Asra must have picked up off the side of the road. Then, the five coppers were three actual coppers, the top off a bottle, and a copper ring.

Curling her fingers around them, she closed her eyes and grinned. Oh, he was so lucky he was cute. “Of course, Asra. Now, let’s go reanimate a corpse.”


	4. Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much to put in the notes, today. I hope you like the story so far, though. Tell me what you think in the comments. See ya next week!

**Cave**

The Palace’s garden fountain wasn’t the place Morand had expected to be taken after following Asra out of the salon. The lateness of the evening was trying to give way into nighttime. Thankfully, that meant not a lot of movement was going on now compared to when Morand and Lucio had been here earlier.

Approaching the fountain, Asra encouraged, “Step into the water.”

Unperturbed by the direction, Morand stepped right in after her master. She looked over her shoulder to see a hesitant Lucio. He grumbled, “This is just the fountain. Shouldn’t magic have more… fire? Blood? Explosions?”

A brow cocked on Morand’s forehead.  _ Um, no it shouldn’t, sweetie. Who told you otherwise? _ Instead of voicing her opinion, she encouraged Lucio with an outstretched palm. “Come on. I’ve worked magic in this fountain before. It’s fine.”

Warily, Lucio eyeballed the glistening water. The moon was reflected despite its thin reflection hovering barely visible in the sky. Nonetheless, he lifted one booted toe over the liquid. His ghost cast no reflection other than a wavering image like fog. After an inhale, he slowly stepped in.

Smiling to reassure him, Morand walked towards Asra. The magician held one hand out to her, and she easily slipped her hand into his. His palms were warm, comforting, and familiar. He grinned back at her.

“Alright. Now, let’s form a circle, and join hands. We don’t want to lose each other.”

Lucio scoffed, “Hold hands? Really?”

The soft smile she had at Asra melted into a frown, and Morand gave a pointed look at the hand on Lucio’s hip. With obvious irritation, he wrapped fingers around her palm. She smirked, pleased.

Once they stood in place, Asra’s deep breaths moved the air in his chest. His white eyelashes laid against his brown cheekbones. Soon enough, the whisper of magic warped around them.

It curled and tickled like a summer breeze. The pleasant feeling emanated from beneath Asra’s clothing. The magic glowed and leaked towards the water. It spread like food coloring, causing the sparkles to bleed into each other until they, too, glowed.

“Relax,” he encouraged them. “Let go of your physical bonds, and hold on for the fall.”

Lucio’s shrill voice broke Morand’s focus. “Wait, wait. What fall?”

He was answered by darkness. The bottom of the fountain fully slipped from beneath her feet. Next, she was suspended by nothingness. There was the feeling of falling without the sensation of wind. In this realm, she could sense no up and no down, no left and no right.

On one side of her, Lucio clung on for dear life. On the other side, Asra smiled. He was as comfortable here as he had been standing on dry land.

He called, “Look.”

Morand followed his gaze. Shining stars were slowly coming into view. With them returned the sensation of direction. Closer, she examined, and Morand’s breath caught. No, she wasn’t looking at stars. She was gaping at worlds. Each pinpoint of light was a tiny realm unto itself. Theirs was just one amongst thousands.

They shimmered and danced, glimmering amongst the darkness of void. Morand breathed, “Oh, wow. This is beautiful.”

Nudging Lucio, Morand got his attention. He, too, was staring amazed. “Yeah. This is definitely more like it.”

Asra chuckled at them. Their starstruck expressions were ones that made the journey worthwhile. Nodding with his head, he explained, “There. That’s our destination.”

To his words, the realms came into a tighter view. It was like looking through a microscope to focus on one particular band of light. Even from so far away, Morand noticed trees swaying over sparkling water. Beautiful.

The calm didn’t last long, though. Abruptly, a force jostled the trio. It grabbed onto Morand, nearly shredding her hands off of Asra. She snatched onto him tighter.

Lucio asked the question on her mind. “Uh, Asra, what was that?”

A cold, howling wind blasted past them. It sent them hurtling by worlds. Then, another tug struck. This one was more violent. It jerked them around like hands grasping at their bodies.

Asra’s fingers were tight and white knuckled as he tried to hold onto Morand. Bit by precious bit, he was pulled away. When his fingers slipped free, Morand threw her hand out to try and bring him back.

It was useless. Asra was dragged through the darkness. He drifted further away, towards the light he’d been trying to direct them to. His words moved on shouts, but she could hear nothing over the screaming wind.

“Asra!” she screamed against it.

Lucio gripped her tighter. He brought her even closer against the forces trying to separate them all. She felt a hand wrapping around her lower back. Looking over her shoulder, he cried, “Hey, where is he—”

The wind picked up to an impossible degree. Faster and faster, it sent their clothes smacking against their skin. Bitter cold sunk teeth into Morand’s skin.

Clenching her eyes tightly closed, she wrapped both arms around Lucio’s neck. One leg slung across his when their bodies tried to separate further. He didn’t argue. Instead, he just pressed them together until no air could surge between their tightly held bodies.

Gravity became a force to reckon with when they tumbled into vibrant white. Bitter cold stole the air from her lungs, and she struck the ground with a gasp. It was sharp, biting. One minute she was clinging to the Count for her very life. The next minute, the world went dark.

* * *

Cold, wet, crunchy. Those were the three things Lucio met with when he came to with a groan. Reaching a hand up, he was cut short by a body atop him. Morand!

Immediately, his red eyes flashed wide. When he saw Morand’s neck tattoo peering back at him in the form of some strange symbol, he exhaled. She was safe. She wasn’t bleeding. She was…

He ran hands across arms that he’d sworn hadn’t been that muscular during their fall. Bracing himself on an elbow, he felt her chest move across his own. He expected to feel her lush breasts on his skin. Instead, she was hard there, all the softness he’d clung to was gone.

Her eyes opened, and he inhaled. Even her face had changed. The soft angles had grown hard. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, more masculine.

“Ngh,” she moaned with a voice so much more male than it had been earlier. Raising a hand up to run through her curls, she blinked at him. “What the hell?”

Still holding her, Lucio sat back. She laid her hands on his chest, and sure enough, the breasts he’d admired before were gone. They were replaced by pecs just as beautiful as the skin formerly tucked into her bralette.

“Morand?” he asked, leaning in and trying not to stare at her chest.

“Mmm?” she replied. Her eyes were still closed, and she rolled her shoulders without getting off him.

“Do you…” He paused, unsure of how to word the question on his tongue. “Do you, er, feel okay? Nothing broken?”

“Surprisingly, no.” She opened her eyes and patted down her ribs, somehow missing the very obvious lack of her own cleavage. Looking at him, she mentioned, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but… where did your breasts go?” The words were out without a second thought. He wondered if they’d upset her. Instead, she laid two hands to her pecs and groaned.

“Ugh! Of fucking course.” She shook snow out of her hair.

He was only mildly surprised by her choice of words. “This happens often?”

“Only during intense emotion. I was born a man, but I use magic to make myself a woman, sometimes.” She shrugged. “It depends on what I’m feeling.”

Her nonchalant attitude about it all made his lips curl, but when snow fell on her bare shoulder, he shook snow off himself. Ugh. He hated winter.

Lucio groaned, “More importantly, I’m never doing that again. Where even are we?” Fog filled the air where his words tangled with the cold.

It must have been some surprise because Morand leaned off his body. Her now narrow hips pressed into his in a way that was far from unpleasant. “Lucio,” she gasped. “I think we made it to the magical realms!”

“Huh? How do you know?”

She gestured at him, laying a hand down where his vest cut low to expose his chest. “Look at yourself.”

Shifting underneath her, he moved his hands in front of his face. He blinked down at his clothing. None of it was translucent. His weight even made an impression in the snow. “You’re right! Ha. You’re right. Ahahahaha!”

Without a second of hesitation, he jumped to his feet. Two hands carried Morand up with him. Wrapping his now warm arms around her, he spun her around. She weighed a little more in this form, but he barely felt it in his excitement.

“I can feel things again! The snow’s cold. You’re warm…” He petted her shoulders like he couldn’t help himself. “This is the best day ever!”

Eagerly, he cradled her now masculine face in one hand and planted a messy, thoughtless smooch on one cheek. After he sat her down, he peered up at the sky. Ah, to feel again. This was such a blessing.

He was entranced by falling flakes when Morand stated, “Kiss me again.”

The demand split his face into a wide grin. Winking at her, he laughed, “Oh, we are going to get along famously, you and I.”

With a spin on his heel, he leaned in to kiss the other side of her face. Though her features had changed, her skin was still so soft. His lips lingered there, and he took in the smell of her.

She smelled earthy like green herbs and something he couldn’t quite describe. All his mind could come up with was the color indigo. It must have been the smell of her magic. He wanted more.

Running his mouth lightly along her jaw, he felt a new curve he’d never touched before, an Adam’s apple. Little kisses played along her jaw bone before he paused at her neck. Looking into fuschia eyes, he asked, “Better now?”

The smile on his mouth was shameless. He knew it. He owned it.

Moving in until he could taste the minty fresh scent of her breath, he held himself perfectly still. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he also was disinclined to take any steps that may distance the two of them.

His tongue dabbed his bottom lip, wetting the skin there. “Or maybe… I should just kiss you properly? I’ve wanted to do that since we met.”

She sure didn’t scare easily because she reached up to put a hand on his. Steady gaze peering into him, she asked, “You aren’t bothered by my shapeshifting?”

“I just want to know how to address you now.”

That must have been the right answer because her lids went heavy, and she parted her lips for him. “Moren. It’s my male name.”

Moren. It was close to his female name, easy to remember. Laying his forehead on Moren’s, he asked, “Well, Moren, should I kiss you now?”

“Lucio, what are you even waiting for?”

He barely had the question out before Lucio laid his lips on Moren’s. His golden hand came up to lay gently on the back of Moren’s neck, careful not to cut him with the claws on the gauntlet. Lucio’s other arm wound around the man’s waist. It pulled their hips flush to each other.

In this form, Lucio was shorter than Moren, but not by much. Had Lucio’s boots not been as tall as they were, he would have been making eye contact with the man’s nose. As they were, Lucio’s mouth was perfectly level with Moren’s. 

Their lips pressed together gently at first. Lucio savored the simple pleasure of physical touch. Moren was warm, hard in some places yet soft in others. He’d bet that underneath the short shirt he wore, Moren had abdominal muscles to die for. He did know that the man’s hips made for perfect grips to get the two of them close.

Fingers tangled in Lucio’s hair, and Moren deepened the kiss with his tongue. It was just a swipe of the tip against his bottom lip, but it left a fire in Lucio’s heart. Opening for him, Lucio let Moren’s tongue take what it wanted.

Lightly, he sucked when Moren pulled back. “You’re good,” Lucio breathed.

A laugh swept across Lucio’s jaw. Leaning towards his ear, Moren was breathless. He sighed, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

He pulled back after a bite against the lobe of Lucio’s right ear. When they looked at each other in the aftermath, both of their faces were flushed. Their breathing came off as fast and excited. Had they not been standing in this gods awful winter horrorscape, Lucio might have asked Moren to show him his “anything”.

Absolutely preening, Lucio explained, “I’m terrible at waiting.” His hands ventured across a brown throat and up to Moren’s cheek. How could a little touch feel this damned good?

Seeming amazed by the contact, he continued, “And I love instant gratification. And I’ve been told that I move fast, but I like to think of it as seizing every opportunity for some good fun.

For the sake of drama, Lucio posted up on a tree. He drew his vest further away from his chest, exposing even more creamy, white flesh. “You know, Moren, I’m also a generous kind of guy. So, would you like more?”

Tossing his hair back, he smiled into the lazy snowflakes. They caught in his hair and melted along the curves of his chest. Eyes skyward, he snickered, “I’d totally understand if you did. Just look at what a glorious specimen I am.”

Moren laughed and placed a hand in the one he stretched out to him. “I would love more kisses.”

The Count held an expression of absolute glee. Looking like a kid with a new toy, he pulled Moren back into place. “Great. That makes two of us.”

Lifting Moren’s hand up to his lips, Lucio made an event out of kissing from his companion’s palm, wrist, up the arm, and on to the shoulder. Between moments of contact, he changed tempo. Sometimes, he’d kiss slowly. Other times, he’d pinch the skin underneath his teeth.

When Moren’s breath hitched from a sharp bite at his neck, Lucio smiled into his skin. Ah, he liked to play rough. Good man. A second time, Lucio nipped Moren’s throat then swept his tongue across a dancing muscle.

Sighing contentedly, Lucio mentioned, “Oh, it’s been so long.”

To his pleasure, Moren wrapped arms around Lucio’s shoulders. The Count admitted, “I used to fantasize about all the things I’d do once I could party again. All the places I’d go, the food I’d eat, the pets I’d find… But then you came into the picture, and you know what?”

Moren wasn’t allowed to answer the question because ticklish kisses laid into his throat. Their intensity grew one after the other until Lucio felt his blood rushing within him. Laying his face against the side of Moren’s, Lucio admitted, “I can put everything off for a bit. If it means more kisses from you.”

A brisk wind blew by, and Moren burrowed his face into the haven between Lucio’s neck and shoulder. “I’m so not a winter person,” he complained.

Laughing, Lucio nodded along. “Same. I hate the cold. Though…” He ran his gauntlet through dark waves of hair. It changed from black to purple in the dim sunlight. “It’s not too bad with you here.”

He let Moren’s hair fall then cradled the man’s chilly fingers in his own. The apprentice wasn’t dressed for cold weather at all. Blowing warm air on their hands, he gave them both a short reprieve from the icy weather.

It was a vain attempt. A second gust knocked snow from the branches over them. Twisting them out of the way, Lucio tried to keep them warm, but his shoulder was quickly clipped by the drift.

“Ack!” He spat out some of the snow that splashed against his lips. “Rude, tree! Interrupting our fun.” He shook like a wet dog to get snow off.

Snickering, Moren stilled him with two hands on his shoulders. “Let me help. You’re going to get both of us wet.”

Like a good dog, Lucio stayed in place while Moren brushed snow off his clothes. His fingers played in the Count’s locks a bit longer than it took to get snowflakes loose, but Lucio loved the petting. Spoiling was definitely up his alley.

Even better? It put Moren within reach. Lucio couldn’t help sneaking kisses on any available part of the apprentice. With his lips on a reaching hand, he snickered, “Don’t mind me. Just showing my appreciation.”

“Riiiight. Of course, you are.”

Once they were both relatively dry, Moren tilted his head at a tree. It stood impossibly tall. Limbs stretched towards the clouds like bony, dark claws.

* * *

Frowning up at the tree, Moren had to make an observation. Magic oozed from this place. He could feel it in everything. It was no wonder his runes hadn’t kept his form when they’d entered. The amount of magic here had to be reacting to them. He had to be careful else he’d shapeshift at the drop of a hat.

His index finger rubbed across the sharp, smooth nail of his thumb guiltily. It was a good thing he hadn’t changed forms while Lucio had been kissing him. It was one thing to wake up to a person after their sex had changed. It was much different when it happened in real time.

Lips tried to stay serious, but it was a failed attempt. He couldn’t help but smile. Lucio hadn’t reacted poorly to seeing Moren’s male form. Matter of fact, he acted just as attracted to his male body as he did his female body. What were the chances that a man as spoiled and fickle as Count Lucio could be accepting of his shapeshifting?

A stray thought danced across Moren’s brain before he could shove it back into its compartment.  _ What if he accepted my  _ real  _ body? _ Mentally berating himself, he didn’t dare let that thought take root.

Count Lucio was a temporary distraction at best. Once he regained a real body, he’d throw Moren to the curb so that he could get back to ruling Vesuvia. How could Moren compete with the richer and less complicated partners political marriages offered? He couldn’t.

As if the wind knew he didn’t want to dig too deep into his thoughts, the howling turned to roaring. The cry of some strange creature prowled around them. Immediately, Lucio came to Moren’s side.

“Uh. Did you hear that? Where did it come from?”

Moren frowned at the endless forest around them. All he could see was mile after mile of thin evergreens and leafless branches. “I’m not sure. Maybe, we should look around and figure out where we are.”

When Lucio nodded his head and didn’t complain, Moren leaned backwards. Lucio commented, “Yeah. It’d be a real mood killer if something got the jump on us.”

Agreeing, Moren checked out the area. There were no sounds that suggested other people were around. Also, he didn’t see anything that could have hinted at other travellers. Were they completely alone, and just where did Asra get off to?

He unintentionally voiced the last half of that thought. After a short pause, he added, “Do you think he’s here, too?”

Lucio nonchalantly shrugged. Taking a deep breath, he yelled Asra’s name at the top of his lungs. Curiously, the cry was muffled by snow and trees. No answer came back to them.

Worry took hold of Moren’s heart. “Asra?” he called. Wasting no time, they began to search the immediate area, but just as Moren suspected, there was no sign of another person, not Asra or anyone else.

Contrary to Moren, Lucio looked utterly unconcerned. “Don’t worry about him, Moren. We’re better off without him leading us around by the nose. He was horrible to me earlier,” he pouted.

They took a few steps, and he decided to fill quiet with chatter. “Besides, you’re a great magician. Who needs Asra when you’re right here?”

Moren shook his head. “No, I’m worried about Asra. If we got separated… Maybe, something went wrong. He said travel across realms could be dangerous.”

Lucio looked like he’d bitten into a lime. “Really? You’re actually worried about him?”

He glowered into the woods, scanning with an irritable twist of his mouth. When Asra didn’t magically appear, he turned back with a shrug. “He’ll be fine, and we’ll be fine without him. You don’t have to worry. I’m sure we can figure out what to do without him. You can handle anything magical, and if anything comes after us, I’ll defend you.”

When he drew a sword from nowhere, Moren put a hand on his waist. Lucio brandished the blade at the shadowy trees with the confidence of a practiced warrior. The sword threw him off, though. Lucio definitely didn’t have one earlier.

“Where’d you get that from, bud?” Moren wondered.

“What? This? It was just… here. I just had it?” He looked perplexed before that confident smile returned in full force.

Sheathing the sword with one hand, he laid a palm on Moren’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Moren. I know my way around a sword. I can keep us safe. But… uh… Do you have any idea what we should do next?”

“Not exactly, but if this realm really is magical…” He rubbed his finger over his thumb nail again. “Asra said we should be able to find evidence of what happened to you.”

Closing his eyes, Moren reached out with a magical sense. Power came to him easier here. It collected around him and stretched. Instantly, he felt the thread of magic that connected him to Lucio. It was multicolored with the same silver tint as the Count’s grey irises.

Still seeking, he reached further until he found something else. It wasn’t as vibrant as Lucio’s connection. It was fainter, older. Instead of linking him to it, Lucio was connected to the magical force, and it rested somewhere deeper in the woods.

The feeling was far from comforting. It sent the telltale shiver of evil up his spine, and he shook. When he opened his eyes, he saw Lucio peering intently at him.

He encouraged, “Well, what did your magical tingly senses tell you?”

“I sensed something strange. Old magic linked to you.”

Lucio perked up with a smile. “See? I knew you could do it. Where is it?”

Moren hesitated. He looked from the woods to Lucio and back to the woods. Had the magic been as comforting as his connection to the Arcana, Moren would have leaped headfirst, but it hadn’t been comforting. It had felt… wrong.

“Listen, I have a bad feeling about this.”

Lucio blew a raspberry with his lips and tongue. “Pfft. Bad feelings. I ignore those all the time.”

Moren reached for Lucio’s hand. After grabbing it, he pressed the issue. “I’m being serious, Lucio. Whatever I sensed out there is very old magic. It might be dangerous.”

“Moren, I live on the wild side. I laugh in the face of danger.” He chuckled with hearty gusto. Drifts of snow muffled the sound of his mocking laughter. It didn’t make Moren feel any better.

Patting the apprentice’s head with golden fingers, Lucio said, “It’s sweet of you to worry, but we’ve got this. I’ll prove it to you.” Without warning, the Count began to march in the complete wrong direction.

Somehow, Moren refrained from sarcasm. Instead, he coughed a laugh into his fist. “Er… it’s that way.” He pointed where the magic pulled him.

Ever confident, Lucio grinned with just a slight amount of embarrassment. “Right! Thanks, I knew that.”

_ Of course, you did, _ Moren mentally sighed. Without another word to sway him, Moren loped off behind Count Lucio. He was right about one thing. Whatever they faced, they would face together. Moren had a zest for life, not death. He’d take a free fall so long as he was confident he’d live when he hit the rocks below.

Lucio needed a sitter, and Moren seemed to be the only one up for the job. If danger popped up around them, Moren wanted to be there to defend his companion. The Count needed him, even if he didn’t realize it.

Through their journey, the snow began to grow taller. It came all the way up to their knees in some places, and Moren truly wished he had been informed of the weather before going off on this trip. A crop top, sandals, and harem pants were not winter attire.

The lack of preparation made adventuring slow moving. On more than one occasion, Lucio had to slow down so Moren could pull himself out of a snowdrift. Luckily for him, Lucio was surprisingly patient. He would venture off a ways then turn back to make sure the apprentice didn’t need any help.

Moren was pulling his lavender colored pants out of a hole dug by his feet when Lucio stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him, rose a large oak. It twisted and twined with bulges of bark and gnarled lumps resemblant of arthritic fingers. Laying a hand on the rough wood, the Count breathed, “Wait a second, what is this doing here?”

His hand moved across markings made by some dulled weapon. Running fingers into the notches, he commented, “This is… I haven’t seen this since…”

Catching up with him, Moren crouched beside the Count. The markings were low on the tree. They only came up to the men’s hips, like some child had smacked a sword into the bark as practice.

“My fighting tree,” Lucio said with embarrassment. “I’d pretend it was a giant, and I had to slay it.”

Eyes to the woods, his face grew distant. His eyes were looking far beyond what was in their reality. He was somewhere in his past, lingering in his thoughts. “But, why is my fighting tree here? I thought this was supposed to be a magical realm, not…”

In that moment, Lucio looked small. His bravado from earlier diminished to nothing in seconds. For the second time today, Moren’s heart hurt for the Count. The man was doing such a number on his empathy that he laid a hand on Lucio’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

As if waking from a dream, Lucio blinked at him. His eyes came into focus slowly, pupils narrowing. “What, me? Fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Quickly, he turned his back on the tree, but not before offering a strained smile. It was obviously forced. He rushed to explain, “I don’t like the cold or the snow. Sunny Vesuvia’s more my speed, you know?”

Moren sighed. Lucio was avoiding the truth. Whatever it must be, it must not be a very good memory. Moren would have liked to say he understood, but he didn’t. Asra had been the only person he had made memories with.

Three years ago, he’d woken with severe amnesia. Asra had taught him how to walk. He’d taught him how to talk. The magician was everything to him, but they didn’t share everything. Like Lucio was doing, Asra kept his past close to the vest.

Deciding it wasn’t his business to pry, Moren followed when Lucio left the side of the tree. Moren directed, but Lucio led. His legs took him as fast as they could through the snow. He moved as if he were trying to outrun the tree they’d left behind.

By the time they came across a cave, the guiding sensation was more prominent. Moren could do a little bit more than half ass the direction of where they needed to walk. Slowing behind him, Moren leaned against a tree with frosted bark.

He took a few short recovering breaths. Thankfully, Lucio appeared to be taking a break, too. The Count was paused at the mouth of the cave. Its entrance was half covered in snow, and it looked like a perfect shelter from this snowfall.

Better than that, this pause came with a nostalgic grin. Lucio approached the cave with familiarity, and Moren leaned back with an exhale. Ah, the apprentice was starting to understand. The realm was bringing up parts of Lucio’s past.

The tree, this cave, they had to be parts of the past. Moren saw them often when he dug through realms to reach the dead. He would be shown images of people’s birthplaces, of places that held reverence in their hearts. When Nadia had asked him to tell her fate with the cards, Moren had seen visions of her childhood bedroom in Prakra.

In front of him, Lucio said, “Oh! This looks just like my old yelling cave. I liked this place.” Like a child, he poked his head into the cave and let out a yell. It echoed through the cave before coming back in a completely distorted noise, nothing like the words he’d put in it.

Looking back at Moren, he grinned. “Pretty neat, huh? I used to spend hours in here. It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

He took a few steps inside and breathed in moist cave air. “It’s funny. I found this place when—” Body locking up, he cut himself up and blinked at Moren. Did he forget he had company in this realm?

Red creeping over his face, he eyeballed a root sticking out from the snow. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about me when I was a kid. I’m a lot cooler now.”

Moren frowned at those words. Of course, he wanted to learn about Lucio as a kid. He had no idea what he had been like. Those memories were thoroughly lost to him, so listening to other people’s history was a forbidden thrill he could only experience secondhand.

Pulling himself off the tree, Moren stood beside the Count. “Actually, I do,” he replied.

Lucio’s eyes shot round, and his mouth gaped a little bit in surprise. “Really?”

Moren didn’t say anything, just nodded. Grinning, Lucio made quick work of his response. “Well, now I have to oblige you. Let’s see, I was about this tall, out in the woods during the dead of winter.” He laid a hand in the air by his waist for reference.

“And I was running for my damn life from a musk bear this tall!” Standing on his tiptoes, he reached high above his head.

Still, Moren had to ask, “What’s a musk bear?”

“Oh, you’ll never meet one near Vesuvia. Musk bears come from the South. Vicious, greasy scavengers who’ll fight anyone for a meal, and even if you’re lucky enough to survive the attack, you’ll reek for days.” He curled his lip. “I can still remember the stench, even now.”

Moren was planning to laugh at his expression, but he one upped himself. Crouching down, Lucio hunched up his shoulders and moved around like a stalking predator. “I caught a whiff of it just in time to run. It was the biggest bear I’d ever seen! But soon I found my salvation. A cave entrance, barely big enough for me.

“I dove into the cave, sprang to my feet and laughed right in the musk bear’s smelly face. It was too fat to follow. It lurked just outside the cave, snarling and curling its ears. So, I thought, you know what? I don’t need to aggravate the stupid beast. It’s learned a lesson.” He put two hands on his hips and grinned triumphantly.

“So I decided to go on an adventure and explore the cave.” Completely caught up in his tale, Lucio grabbed Moren’s hand and led him deeper into the cave. Before their eyes, the tunnel appeared to grow larger around them. It was like looking through the eyes of a child.

Lucio nodded down varying tunnels. “I got so lost in here the first time.”

Giving a shy smile, Moren peered up through a lock of dark hair. The Count was adorable like this. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and his jaw worked until Moren was sure it’d be sore. He liked this side of Lucio, even if he was becoming convinced that this story, much like the cave, was becoming a tall tale.

With a slight cough, Moren mentioned, “Um, I think you’re affecting the cave.”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

“The cave’s changing as you’re telling the story. Have you noticed?”

Lucio blinked at the tangle of cave tunnels around them. He studied rocks covered with moss and dripping water. “No? This is pretty much how I remember it looking when I was a kid.” He waved Moren’s words off like spiderwebs.

“Anyway, I’d been wandering for what felt like hours, and I just needed to yell at something. So, I shouted at the top of my lungs, ‘I hate musk bears!’”

The echo went on for miles before drifting back When it came back, it was warped to sound like a beast’s howl. Lucio nodded approvingly. He said, “I nearly jumped out of my skin when the cave yelled back, but when nothing came after me, I started yelling down each tunnel. ‘I hate the snow! I hate training! Why isn’t it my birthday yet?’”

He shouted down each tunnel, and the echoes twisted together. They created a godawful sound. Moren could just imagine a short, towheaded Lucio pitching an unholy fit in the cave to the song of his echoing screams.

“By the time I found my way out, all the noise had scared off that stupid musk bear, and here’s the best part. I came back to the yelling cave whenever I needed to vent. I didn’t want anybody else finding it, so I told everyone I knew that it was haunted.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “And they believed me! They avoided the place for years and years. All that time, it was just me and the cave yelling at each other.”

He gave a proud laugh. The sound bounced around the cave in high-pitched squeals. Confidently, he ended, “So that’s how I scared off a musk bear and a bunch of gullible idiots. I was a pretty cool kid, huh?”

Moren smiled at him. For what had to have been at least two hours, Lucio had rattled on. No one could remember their history quite so well. He was halfway teasing when he asked, “Was that a true story? It seems almost beyond belief.”

Lucio shrugged, tugging on his collar like he couldn’t help it. “Well, I may have embellished a little. But, hey, now it’s a good story. You wouldn’t want me to tell you something boring, would you, Moren?”

After giving a fond glance down the tunnels, he added, “I’d love to stay and yell some more, but it’s getting dark outside.”

Moren looked beyond the mouth of the cave and nodded. Lucio was right. Dusk was settling in here. He wondered how long they’d been in here compared to the real world. Out there, a hunt was being called off for Dr. Devorak, and Nadia was doing whatever Countess type people did.

“So, does that mean you know how to get out of here?” he asked.

“Maybe. Probably. I think it’s this way,” Lucio said. Despite his noncommittal answer, leaving the cave wasn’t too hard. It was easier to get out of here than it was to come inside.

Quickly, they reached the exit where dusk light made a bold statement across the snow. It was streaked with pinks, purples, and reds. The clouds were stretched out wide and long.

Looking back to the cave, Lucio called, “Farewell, yelling cave!”

Its answer came back like the laughter of a small child, and Moren grinned. Lucio may have stretched the truth, but it told her just as much about him as the truth would. The Count wanted to look good. His image was important for him.


	5. Survivor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avast ye scurvy fan fiction readers! N-Layne has returned with more scribbling. As always, I shall be posting two chapters today. I might even post a third because smut. I've already written eleven chapters for this whole fic, so expect it to be a long one. Before we begin, though. I would like to thank the three readers who gave this bit of nonsense kudos. I appreciate your appreciation of work created for the appreciation of the Arcana, so I hope you feel appreciated, too. ;)
> 
> Oh, oh, oh! Also, I posted one of the rough sketches I've been working on for Moren/Morand. Tell me what you think. I'll be doing clean lines and coloring it in at some point this decade...

**Survivor**

Moren was convinced that two days had passed, and they were still in these impenetrable woods. As light began to fall on the second day, the restlessness that Lucio was showing became more obvious. His sword was held in his hands instead of his sheath. Every now and then, he directed it towards shifting shadows or strange sounds in the woods.

“It’s too quiet,” he grumbled.

Moren probed the runes on his body, and they began to glow for extra light. After he was lit up like a tattooed stove salamander, he agreed, “You’re right. I think we’re all alone here.”

“True, but that’s not what I meant. There should be birds, game, bugs… Even in the dead of winter, but have you seen or heard any animals since we got here?”

Moren frowned. No, he hadn’t. They’d been so busy travelling that he hadn’t really noticed. Not even his lack of hunger had made much of an impact. The rules of reality had little effect on magical worlds. All physical motives tended to be stunted.

Amidst the dancing snowflakes, Moren observed the silence. There was nothing around them. All they heard was their crunching steps and their breaths. The sensation of silence creeped in around them, and Moren bared his teeth at nothing.

Twirling his sword with a flip of his wrist, Lucio complained, “This is all Asra’s fault. Coming to this weird place was his stupid idea. We should get back at him somehow. What do you think would—”

Something shrieked in the darkness. It sounded close. The scream had Moren’s lightning magic slithering from glowing runes to concentrated lightning in his palms. Lucio set himself on the alert as well. He leaped in front of Moren, sword at the ready.

To the darkness, he called, “Who’s there? If you want a fight, you’ve got a fight!”

On cue, a massive serpentine creature exploded from the wintery woods. It shook the trees. Snow crashed to the ground in violent heaps.

Back to back, Moren stood with Lucio. Soon, a huge wyrm, skeletal and thinly, rose in front of them. Blank eyes covered in a milky film stared hungrily. Jaw slack, Moren breathed, “Oh, fuck me.”

Lucio heard him. Despite readying for the soon-to-come attack, he chimed, “Later. For now, we fight.” He examined the tattered, grey scales clinging to blackened bones. Some parts of the creature had flesh. Others were bare, white ribs. “Now, that’s really disgusting,” Lucio commented.

Rank breath blew over their bodies when the wyrm lunged. Moren braced to put up a shield, but before he could even attempt to do anything, Lucio was in the way. He met the wyrm’s attack head on, parrying the blow with a confident swing.

The impact of the two forces had Lucio sliding back on his boots. His sword glinted upon the moonlight. The man moved like a hero of yore, and a fang splintered on his sharp blade.

Recoiling from the blow, the wyrm slithered back. It moved swiftly. Seemingly blind eyes checked for weak points, and Moren stayed on guard. The creature wasn’t giving up easily. It was simmering, furious and deadly.

Undaunted, Lucio laughed in its face. “Ha! Is that all you got, you nasty beast?”

The wyrm circled them. Cautiously, Lucio met it step for step. He acted as if he were guarding precious treasure. The idea that Moren needed protecting was downright dandy. He loved to be a cherished creature.

Casting an arrogant grin at him, Lucio called, “Stay away from it, Moren! I’ve got this.”

Moren raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. His magic fizzled out from his palms and receded back within his skin. “Kick its ass, hero boy.”

Looking extremely self-satisfied, Lucio charged the wyrm. Both beings crashed together. The gorey noise of metal against bone scraped, and Moren grinned wide. No one had ever tried to fight for Moren before. He just wished he had time to change sex and get into a ballgown.

Bah! Who was he kidding? He’d look just as great in a dress as a man as he would as a woman.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little worried about Lucio. The wyrm was more than twice the size of him, and Lucio wanted to take it on alone? The man had a set of balls on him, Moren knew that much.

As they clashed, the forest darkened. Lucio made true strikes that dug into the body of the wyrm. It loosed dead blood that gushed in browns, oranges, and reds. Those sprays painted Lucio’s vest and pants.

Breathing hard, Lucio forced sweaty hair out of his eyes, yet he didn’t look bothered by the battle. Matter of fact, he looked like he was having one hell of a time. His blade dug into the upper half of the wyrm. As skin peeled back, he looked towards Moren.

Did he want to make sure the apprentice was watching? How could Moren not? This was his kind of scene. Blood, battles, and the confidence to live through it all? Oh, hell, yes. Just give him a glass of whiskey and a filet mignon, and he would be having dinner and a show.

Silently cheering Lucio on, Moren grinned at the Count’s taunt. “Come on, you great gross beast. Once more into the fray!”

He aimed a vicious slash at the wyrm, but it slithered out of the way. Its body coiled like a demonic snake. Readying to strike, it let out an angry hiss. Rancid breath of dead meat and vomit made bile rise in Moren’s throat.

To Moren’s shock, the creature’s hiss went soft then melded into words. “Devour you!” its gravelly throat croaked.

Lucio bared his canines. “I don’t think so. Whoever you are, you aren’t devouring me today.”

“Vlagnagog hungersss!” The beast snapped at Lucio’s sword arm, and he jerked it into safety. The wyrm’s teeth barely missed their mark.

The misstep had Moren’s electrical magic bleeding back into his arms. “Lucio!” he cried.

The Count barely seemed to hear him. He gasped, “Vlagnagog? But…”

The wyrm’s spiked tail whipped upwards. It came down with a crack. When the snow parted, Moren growled at the bloody line slashing across Lucio’s face.

“Damn it, Lucio! Wake up!” Moren howled. He let lightning coat his entire arm, but Lucio quickly threw his hand up to ward him off.

The Count’s voice was a mix of fear and fury when he stopped the apprentice. “It’s just a flesh wound, Moren! I’ve still got this.”

His next dodge was cleaner, effortless. The wyrm’s tail made the ground shudder, but there was no human blood spray or damage to the Count’s stance. When it lunged, he almost looked like he was playing with it. Nigh, aggressively but still playfully.

This lunge was its last. Lucio dug his sword into a wedge he’d already cut out. Slicing deep, the Count nearly beheaded the wyrm in one fell swoop. The creature’s skull went sliding nose first across the snow, and Lucio delivered a finishing blow by running his blade through the wyrm’s eye.

The creature roared. It tried to lift. Then, it collapsed into a curling series of death spasms. With a sharp, dry crunch, Lucio placed his foot down on the wyrm’s neck. He ran a bloody hand through his hair, weaving red through gold. Proudly, he commanded, “And stay down.”

The sight was morbidly sexy, and Moren let out a mock pur. “Growr,” he teased. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

When the words crossed the snow to the Count, Lucio laughed and punched the air. His eyes danced in glee. “Ah, yes! Did you see that, Moren? Nothing like a good fight to keep the blood pumping.”

His nostrils flared at the scent of blood, and Moren flaunted his canines. “Shame you didn’t let me have any fun,” he pouted.

Jogging up to the Count, he laid a hand on Lucio’s bloody face. Crimson was still trickling from a shallow cut. “You were amazing,” Moren admitted.

The Count wore his arrogance like a badge of honor. “Of course, I was amazing. I told you I could protect us.”

“That you did.”

“If you thought that was impressive, you should have seen me in my mercenary days. There wasn’t a single beast, monster, or person alive who could stand up to me.” He looked down at himself, at the blood and sweat. The man had become a gorey, triumphant mess.

Carefully wiping the grizzle of dead wyrm off in the snow, he checked out his reflection within the silvery blade. He made eye contact with Moren when he observed, “I look roguishly handsome, if I do say so myself. But, walking around covered in blood might attract even more creatures. Give me a moment to clean up, Moren.”

His eyes roved over the apprentice very slowly. Moren knew he was being checked out from head to toe. Arching a brow, Lucio asked, “Unless you’d like to help me.”

The Count dug his sword into the snow and leaned on it. He struck a winning pose over the wyrm’s corpse. As insufferable as ever, he explained, “It’ll be easier with another pair of hands, and more fun, if you’re up for it.”

Shrugging, Moren replied, “Sure. I’ll help you.”

His hand laid gently on Lucio’s face. There, he examined where the wyrm’s tail had sliced skin. True to his initial observation, the cut was shallow. It bled uglier than it really was. “I can heal this.”

“Heal?” Lucio stared at him, confused.

“Yes. With magic.”

“Oh, I didn’t know magic could do that.”

Moren’s eyebrow crawled up one side of his forehead. Healing was one of the most basic things Asra had taught him. Before Moren could begin the spell, Lucio snuck a kiss on the apprentice’s wrist. The Count’s arm wrapped around his waist to bring him in close.

Lips close together, Lucio leaned in. “First, Moren, I have a very important question for you.” Resuming his former posture over the wyrm, he asked, “I think I’m pretty magnificent like this. Bloodied but triumphant, with my enemy prone at my feet. It’s a good look on me. It always has been, but I want to know if you’re into the heroic conquerer look. Because, if you are, I can always find more terrifying beasts to slay.”

Moren laughed and leaned his head on his hand. His eyes roved across Lucio in the way only a fellow predator could appreciate. The Count’s hair was tousled. He smelled like victory, sweat, and iron. Better than that, he’d gotten that way because he wanted to protect his magician.

If Moren had ever wanted to jump a man, right now was the worst it’d ever been. Granted, being an active participant would have helped warm the blood in his veins, but Lucio had wanted to prove his strength. Sometimes, a guy just needed to be a guy.

“Oh, I’m into it.”

Uninterested in posing any longer, Lucio let his sword fall. He drew Moren in with a hand on the apprentice’s wrist and purred, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Hot lips laid against Moren’s own, and he groaned at the feel of warrior against his body. The Count’s sweat was clean tasting. He was male, fire, and held the scent of their wintery adventures in the evergreen on his clothing.

Clutching him tighter, he savored their victory. The grip made Lucio clutch him harder, more feverishly. The Count’s weight pressed a little too hard, and Moren felt their bodies shifting. When the apprentice tried to correct them, he wound up pushing Lucio into the snow.

Once Moren was laying on top of him, Lucio snickered, “Oops. Seems like we’ve found ourselves here again. With you on top of me.”

Legs spread over the Count’s hips, Moren firmly pressed down on the man’s chest. He held Lucio in place with his thighs and palms. Grinning, he tapped a sharp nail against his bottom lip. “Hmm. It seems like we have. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Getting an idea, Moren reached out and grabbed a fistful of snow. He rubbed it across the blood on Lucio’s chest. The heat of the Count’s body melted the cold flakes. It trickled icy water across his exposed nipple, and Lucio hissed a breath.

“Ah! That’s chilly.”

Moren leaned down and stole a kiss while the Count’s mouth was still open. He murmured, “Everything here is chilly.”

Hands laid across the apprentice’s hips just a bit lower than could be considered appropriate. Massaging the skin of Moren’s hips, Lucio noted, “Not you.”

Moren smiled down. If he was honest, he wouldn’t mind it if Lucio’s hands went lower. The man had just rescued his helpless, squishy magician from a terrible beastie. Wasn’t it at this part of the romance novel that the hero ravished his damsel?

Kissing the skin right above Lucio’s injury, Moren allowed his magic to pour from the contact. It flowed from his lips to the wound, weaving skin back together with a little magical acceleration.

“Oh, that feels… really weird. Good but weird.”

“Thank you for defending me, my Count.” Moren rubbed his forehead against the Count’s like a pleased kitten before standing up. He pulled Lucio up with him, but the Count wasn’t inclined to let him go.

Just as he had the last time they’d been this close, he laid kisses all over Moren. The apprentice savored the thank yous but asked, “Better now?”

“Yes, though I wouldn’t mind if you took more time cleaning me up.” He leaned in to steal a kiss. “Maybe, next time, after I fight another huge monster for you, we can spend a little longer on the victory celebration.”

Moren couldn’t agree more. Laying his face against Lucio, he looked at the darkness. It had grown so much deeper since the fight with the wyrm. Each new shadow seemed to make the woods expand. Was there even an end to it all?

Turning in a slow circle, Lucio peered through the trees. To Moren, he asked, “So, are we still following that magic trail of yours?”

Moren shook his head. He’d completely forgotten about the threads. The attack stole it from his thoughts. He said, “Give me a moment, and I’ll find it again.”

Eyes closed, he searched for the magical presence. This time, he knew what he was looking for. It was a thread of magic connected to the Count, something old, something wicked.

He was on the trail when a different sensation tugged at him. It pressed down on his senses. The new presence was close, overwhelming, and foul. It closed up Moren’s throat, making it hard to breathe.

A tight grip shocked Moren out of his magic. Eyes flying open, he gave a bewildered look at Lucio. The Count yelped, “Don’t panic, but whatever you’re doing can wait!” He shoved his finger towards a pale, slimy shadow gliding through the trees.

The creature was followed by another and another, and another. They were closing in on them. Moren’s stomach rolled at the sickening sight of the creatures. They were ropey like worms, but worms weren’t supposed to have teeth. Not like these.

Flinging out his hand, Moren focused magic into a blast of fuschia fire. It crackled through the cold air and flew towards the nearest shadow. When it missed, Lucio’s sound of shock was barely registered in Moren’s mind.

The being twisted bonelessly. It slung itself around a tree like a long, pale rope. Ugh. Moren thought he was going to be sick. Creatures were supposed to have bones. Where the hells was this thing’s bones?

Within the darkness, a terribly familiar voice cried, “Oh, such nasty little mortals! How dare you assault my lovely children?”

Before he could figure out who the voice belonged to, more of those worm things emerged from the shadows. Lucio grabbed Moren and ordered, “Keep doing that thing with the fire. I’ve got the rest.”

Just the fire? Ah, hell, no! Moren had a lot more than fire at his disposal.

Equipping one arm with fire and the other with lightning, Moren shot magical bolts of elemental energy at the enemy. But, they kept coming in closer. It didn’t take long before they were close enough for him to get a really good look.

Ah, hellfire. They really were worms. There were dozens of them, each the length of a person. Tiny beady eyes stared at Moren like they were eager to have him and Lucio for dinner. Worst of all was the teeth. They had so many that it just wasn’t rational.

“Graboids were supposed to be a myth!” he cried.

“Huh?”

Moren shook his head and shot more lightning. “It’s from a play called Tremors! It’s a real classic. If we live through this, I’ll take you to a showing.” He hit a worm with lightning flat in the face. It sent the upper half of the creature sailing through the trees. The other was reduced to ash, and Moren quoted, “Can you fly, you sucker!?”

As gratifying as making worm parts fly was, the victory was short lived. Soon, the woods were teeming with them. They formed an undulating, grey horde. Moren wanted to throw up at just the sight of slime and the sickening slurping sounds from their movements.

Beside him, Lucio sliced at a worm. “Ah ha! Take that!” He cleaved two in half with a single sweep, but it moved in death throes. The pieces wriggled with their jaws snapping blindly.

“Ngh! I think I’m gonna get sick.” Lucio put the back of his gauntlet to his mouth. Like Moren, he was turning green.

Back to back, metal sang beside crackling fire and lightning. They were two warriors defending against a never ending horde. When one enemy went down, two or three or four replaced it.

The growing force of the enemy made Moren’s heart drop. There was no way they could hold this many off. They would overtake them if they didn’t change tactics and fast.

Dispersing the fire of one arm, Moren gestured towards Lucio. “We have to run!”

“But—”

“Come on! There’s no time!”

Lucio looked from the enemy to Moren with obvious reluctance. His knuckles went stark white on the hilt of his sword. Between the lines of his forehead and the snarl of his mouth, the apprentice wondered if he was going to have to haul the Count out over his shoulder.

Not willing to wait for Lucio to make the decision himself, Moren grabbed Lucio’s arm and fired off more lightning bolts. They set off at a punishing pace that forced the air from Moren’s lungs. It was the kind of run that should have left their enemies in the dust. Instead, the worms moved along effortlessly.

Their ropey bodies slung from limb to limb. Dripping slime was hard to avoid when they came in close to strike. Moren barely leaped out of the way of flinging mucus to haul Lucio away from a strike that would have torn off his other arm.

“How many worms are there in this damn forest?” Lucio screamed in frustration.

Moren didn’t know, and he damn sure didn’t care. He just wanted the two of them out of there. When he saw a break in the trees, he sunk a death grip on Lucio and charged. The Count was still swinging behind him, cursing everything around them to the hells and back.

Teeth lunged out for Moren before he could avoid it. Lucio watched in wide mouthed horror when lines of fangs wrapped around Moren’s out-slung arm. The Count’s cry rent through the air, but Moren never screamed.

“Suck on this!” he roared. All of his tattoos glowed to a blinding degree. The nearby worms screeched in fear, but the one on Moren’s forearm writhed. Electricity filled its tubular body.

Crackling energy surged outwards. The tiny eyes of the worm bulged out. Lightning could be seen dancing within. Suddenly, the worm exploded. Grey mucus flung everywhere. It would have rained on them had Moren not had the sense to throw up a shield. It was decorated over in the runes he’d gotten tattooed since long before his memory.

Those runes kept them clean and protected when they collapsed just outside of the woodlands. Catching himself on his knees, Moren clawed the dirt to keep running. His legs were weak, wobbly. He was ready to give out, but Lucio hastened forward to brace him.

They made it a ways before slowing. Turning around, the men gaped at the army of worms. They were a seething mass, settled on top of each other like some kind of pulsating meat horde. Grey flesh and teeth were shone on by the moon.

Lungs burning, Moren worked to catch his breath. Lucio staggered on the spot. The Count went down, and Moren slid to the earth beside him. They weren’t down for long until Lucio scraped up to his feet.

His face was a twisted mask of red hot rage. “I refuse to die by worm! I’ll kill you all, you disgusting vermin!”

But they never came out of the woods. They stopped at the very edge, piling on top of each other. From behind them, a massive creature slithered. It undulated along the edge of the treeline.

“You!” it called to Lucio. “You always were the nastiest little mortal.”

All the red that had inflamed his skin disappeared. When the creature came better into view, Lucio looked as if he couldn’t get enough air. Instead of reaching his throat, the oxygen seemed to go into the lungs of the worms. They howled on his lost breath, making all of Moren’s hair stand on high alert.

The thing that seemed to be commanding the creatures pressed against an invisible border. Its slithering, grey body placed long, twisted fingers along the barrier. “Run away, little mortals, and if you ever return…”

Uninterested in listening to the opinion of a humanoid worm demon, Moren tugged on Lucio’s hand. He tried to bring the Count back down to reality. “What are you waiting for? Lucio, let’s get out of here!”

His words seemed to wake the Count up but not entirely. Eyes ready to pop out of his head, Lucio followed with a blind gait. His legs were clumsy, and Moren suspected it was from a lot more than exhaustion.

Moren wasn’t sure how long they ran, but in time, the sunlight returned. He wasn’t sure he could go much farther, and against his will, Moren doubled over to clutch at his sides. They tingled from exertion. There was no way he could run another foot.

Lucio was in the same boat with him. The Count sunk to his knees in autumn colored grasses. Staring down at his hands, he didn’t speak. He only sucked in air.

Moren popped open one eye to check out their surroundings. Gone was the ice and frost of the woodlands. It had steadily been replaced by short, drifting grasses colored auburn, pale yellow, and dusty brown. The sunlight that kissed them held a red tint.

Sucking in more breath, Moren attempted to straighten his spine. Once he was standing tall, he put two hands on the backs of his hips. Yeah, they were far from the woods. He could see mountains in the distance. A creek bubbled nearby.

It was the creek that really got Moren’s attention. Although they were in a realm where food and drink was optional, that didn’t mean he could break the habit of thirst so easily. Before he did anything, though, he looked back at Lucio.

The Count was gradually recovering. His face was a mixture of rage and shock. The dark brown brows that contrasted his fair hair were drawn towards his straight nose, but his lips were parted.

When he noticed Moren looking him over, blush suffused his skin. The apprentice didn’t see it for too long because Lucio darted a glance over his shoulder. Moren really didn’t want to revisit the whatever-the-hell-they-were that had been hunting them.

Therefore, he asked, “So, what do we do now?”

Lucio frowned at Moren’s ridiculous question. He yapped, “We get out of here. That’s what we do.”

“Get out of here? You want to leave the magical realm?”

“Yeah. Asra used some spell when he dragged us to this horrible place. You could reverse it, right? Send us back to Vesuvia?” Though the Count gave Moren a winning grin, his eyes held an untold plea.

If Moren had to place a bet, he would say the Count was scared. As if he could blame the man. The way those things had moved, chasing them through the woods. If Moren didn’t have a good hold on his gut, he was sure he would have thrown up right there on the snow floor.

But, there was something that still bothered him. The King of all Hideousness had acted like it’d known Lucio, and Lucio had appeared surprised to see it, too. What was the Count doing dealing with creatures like that, or was he just overthinking the Count’s reaction? Demons were an unpredictable sort.

Frowning at the ground, Moren put less thought into his speculations and more into the situation at hand. Asra had taught him a lot during their time together, but transportation spells hadn’t exactly been a subject that came up often. They’d be stuck here, around those freaky monsters, until Moren figured out how to grab Asra.

To Lucio, Moren explained, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

The Count wasn’t to be denied. He pressed, “Just try. We haven’t brought me back to life, which was the whole point of coming here, and this place is the worst. Let’s just go home and try something else.”

The apprentice scowled at nothing in particular. Confident as he was in his abilities, a mathematical equation couldn’t solve itself. Moren could stare at a spell all day, but if he didn’t have the right tools to make it work, he’d just be wasting time.

Still, there was little to be said for the magician who never tried something new. Shaking the heebie-jeebies off, Moren closed his eyes. “All right,” he acquiesced.

After offering both of his hands to the Count, Moren drew in a deep breath. He thought deeply back to the way they had stood in the fountain with Asra. He remembered the feel of the water, the way Asra’s magic had washed his body in a familiar embrace.

Yet, something felt lacking. The circle felt incomplete. Reaching out with his fifth sense, Moren tried to gather any surrounding magic to channel it into him.

There was nothing to latch onto. The tundra was devoid of accessible magic, and Lucio… Well, the Count had almost nothing to call out. The guy was basically a rock around Moren’s metaphysical ankle.

Lucio broke Moren’s concentration with, “Is it working?”

The apprentice made a low growling noise in his throat that sounded mildly like a no. Eyes opening in frustration, Moren looked Lucio in the eye and shook his head. It felt like throwing in the towel when he said, “We need to find Asra as soon as possible. I don’t even know where to start with travel across the realms.”

Releasing his partner’s hands, Lucio turned to kick a chunk of red moss. It swept back and stood up with a defiant sway. The Count grumbled, “This is the worst day.”

Moren cocked a brow. “That wasn’t what you were saying when you figured out you had a body.”

Lucio flipped his hair back with an indignant air. “Well, that was before those things.” He paused and looked a little sheepish when his grin attempted to lighten the mood. “I mean, I’m not mad at you, Moren… But Asra’s always been impossible, always missing right when I need him.”

Moren snickered, “He has a habit of disappearing right when the rent’s due, too.”

The Count’s eyes widened. Moren would have thought he’d comment on Asra’s vagrant inspired lifestyle. Instead, he yelped, “You pay rent! In my city!”

The squawk had Moren leaning back from the hips. He replied, “Er, yeah. That’s what most of us plebs have to do. At least once on a monthly basis, I visit the shop’s landowner and pay for use of the lot.”

“Well, that will be changing immediately! Once I become Count again, the first thing I’ll do is buy the lot. You won’t have to pay for shop space ever again.”

Lips quirking into a grin, Moren snickered but didn’t speak. After brushing a loose strand of hair from his face, he turned towards the breeze. If drawing magic to power a transportation spell wouldn’t work, he only had one other option.

Feeling like he was repeating himself, Moren mentioned, “I could try tracking Asra with magic. Every magician has an aura unique to them. I know Asra’s aura, so if he’s cast magic recently, I might be able to find him.”

Slowly, Lucio blinked. His expression was completely lost, but he shrugged it off. “Okay, you do… that. I’ll keep watch.”

Moren bit his bottom lip discreetly. _We are so fucked,_ he begrudgingly thought.

Not wasting anymore time, he slid his eyes shut. Instead of pulling on the magic of the tundra, he searched through it. He could see leaves drifting on the wind. He could hear grasses entwining like long lost lovers.

Too easily, he recognized something familiar across the net his magic was casting. Moren felt warmth. He felt strength. Best of all, he felt confidence. They were the telltale signs of Asra’s power.

Unfortunately, Moren didn’t feel it at the capacity he normally did. Though his sixth sense had located familiarity, it was distorted and distant. It was like he was finding Asra somewhere deep in a grey fog.

When Moren reopened his eyes, he saw Lucio looking at him expectantly. The Count proclaimed, “That was quick!”

Nodding, Moren rubbed his fingers out of habit. Hopefully, what he felt this time wouldn’t lead them to something evil. The fog was worrisome. What if Asra was hurt or lost? Moren wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to his master on account of his stupidity.

Maybe, they’d get lucky. Maybe, it was a spatial distortion that made the magic feel so strange. Either way, it was their only chance at a step forward. They’d have to take it.

Ignoring the worry, Moren said, “I think I’ve found him. This way.”

Instead of letting Lucio lead, Moren guided them on a path towards the mountains. They’d taken a few miles into the north when a large eagle burst through the clouds. It was the first movement they’d seen since the worms, and Moren couldn’t help his bark of surprise.

The bird drowned him out with a piercing shriek. It circled them as if they were carrion on the hillsides. Two piercing eyes came into focus when it swooped low, and Moren curled his lip in confusion. It looked like the creature was focused on Lucio?

Surprising the apprentice, Lucio returned the animal’s glare. “First, a worm filled forest. Now, this. What’s next? A cliff? An icy lake? An avalanche? I don’t care what Asra says when we find him. We are never coming here again, or listening to any more of his harebrained ideas!” the Count howled.

He stomped through the grasses, crushing them under his leather boots. “I’ll find a way back to life, with or without his ‘help.’”

His rant must have cheered him up. A little spark glowed in his eyes as he said the words “back to life”. Moren sighed. Frivolous ghost.

Fingers snapped on his right hand, and his voice grew optimistic. “Oh, I know! Once I’m back, I’ll throw a party to celebrate. You remember by masquerades, Moren? They were the talk of the town, each grander than the last.”

Mentally, Moren winced. No, no, he did not remember the Count’s masquerades. By the time Moren had woken up from circumstances unexplained, Count Lucio had already been… “goasted”.

A hand waved in front of his face, and Moren zoned back into the world. Lucio croaked, “Hey, Moren. I’m talking about something important here. Tell me. What was your favorite thing from my parties?”

Not one to lie, Moren replied, “I don’t remember.” He wasn’t surprised when the Count laughed. He should have known Lucio wouldn’t have understood what he’d been saying to him.

Smiling widely, Lucio sighed, “Ah, I threw so many great parties. I’d understand if they all run together in your head.”

He spun on his foot to walk backwards in front of Moren and continued, “But come on, there has to be one thing that really stood out to you. If you tell me, I’ll make sure it happens.”

Hot air exhaled from Moren’s nose in a sigh. It would be wrong to tiptoe around the truth since Lucio had no clue. Besides, the truth would come up sooner or later. It’d be better to tell him now.

Putting his hands in the pockets of his billowing pants, Moren explained, “Lucio, I have amnesia. I’m missing all of my memories from over three years ago.”

The Count looked absolutely crestfallen. His mouth formed a perfect circle when he muttered, “Oh…”

His smile disappeared in an instant, and Moren had the distinct internal shame as if he’d just kicked a puppy. Eyes downcast, Lucio’s voice was barely above a whisper. He asked, “You don’t remember my birthday celebrations? Or my incredible house? Or how much everyone loved me?”

The pad of his forefinger rubbed nervous circles on his thumbnail, and Moren slowly shook his head. Ugh. That face. Why did the Count have to make that face when he was upset?

Lucio’s pale pink lips were pouting, and he kept studying a particular blade of grass. If Moren wasn’t so worried about finding Asra, he would have wrapped the Count up in a blanket and carried him off to the shop for some serious cuddling. The man turned into a small child when he looked like that, and Moren was ever the parent.

Gulping, Moren replied, “I don’t remember anything at all.”

The Count surprised the apprentice when he changed expressions in a split second. Instead of dwelling, he put one hand on his hip and frowned. Lucio observed, “That’s rough.”

He about gave Moren whiplash with his mood swings because Lucio’s face suddenly spread into a pleasant grin. Looking like the human incarnation of the bright side, the Count explained, “You know what that means, Moren?”

He had no idea.

Lucio rolled his eyes like the answer was obvious. “It means that we’ll party extra hard when I get back! You and I sound like we’re in the same boat. We’ll have to make up for lost time.”

Moren laughed. Ah, that was much better than seeing the Count sulk. He would have said as much, but Lucio’s stomach gave a mighty growl. One hand hastily laid against his flat stomach. Rubbing it, he asked, “Are you hungry, Moren? Because I’m starving. Not sure if there’s anything good to eat around here, though.”

His arm swept widely out across the tundra. Moren teased, “You were a goat, you know? Why not just snack on some grass? It looks pretty good.”

If looks could do damage, Moren would be feeling a stab in his chest right now. Lucky for him, all Lucio could do was speak. “Very funny, but I’ll have you know that I can forage for us. It’s been a while, but I’ve still got my edge.” Hands in front of him, he cracked his knuckles with a long armed stretch.

“Oh?” Morand stepped behind him when he took the lead. “And just what will we find out in this abundant ecosystem?”

His nose went into the air. “Hmph. You could come with me. It’ll be just like old times. Me living off the land with nothing but my wits and raw skill.” He tossed a sassy wink over his shoulder. “I’m sure you could learn a thing or two from a master survivor like me.”

  
 _Oh, I’m sure I could,_ Moren thought. A breeze accompanied Lucio’s proud twirl, and the apprentice got another blessing of a view. To put it simply, the Count’s pants fit in all the right places. He could admire that man’s backside for hours.


	6. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I gave it some thought and decided not to post the smut chapter today. I know. I know. Such a shame, but there's a reason for it and that reason is ANGST! I'm still undecided on how I'm going to handle my little jealousy issue later on in the story. I don't want to diverge from the original plot too much but... Eh, I'll figure it out. Ta-ta for now!

**Past**

Lucio couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had to hunt for his own food. It had to have been years. The hunts he went on as Count were for entertainment and pleasure.

Mercedes and Melchior had been trained to flush birds and stalk prey. Their curious natures were a blessing as they’d helped him catch their meals, but he didn’t have his loyal hounds this time. What he did have was a handsome magician to impress.

When Moren said he’d come along to forage, Lucio had puffed up like a peacock. Already, he was forming the image of a hero in front of the other man. He’d defended the apprentice against a horde of freakish worms. He’d rescued him from the jaws of a terrible wyrm. Now, he could provide again.

Offering his arm, he relished the warmth of Moren’s touch. His shapeshifter was adventurous. Few people had come down the halls of his wing when he’d been trapped there, but Moren had. The magician had strolled straight into the lair of the beast to meet him.

Thoughtlessly, he curled himself tighter around Moren. With an educated tone, he advised, “You never know when you might see big game in the wilderness. Silent as a breeze, swift as an arrow, and mysterious as the dark side of the moon. That, dear Moren, is the hunter in action.”

The man smirked at him, and Lucio admired the way sunlight cast a red tone on his brown skin. The magician’s male form was close to the same height and build as his female form.

They both stood around Lucio’s height with the male form only being a few inches taller. The span of his breasts had been replaced by a firm chest, and his lower half had slimmed down to a narrow but perky bottom and shapely thighs. That bottom part had felt extremely nice to lay against.

Breathing in the scent of Moren’s long hair, he walked them into the tundra. Eyes studiously scanned across the dirt and grasses. He hunted for hoof prints or recesses amongst green and brown.

To Moren, he mentioned, “No tracks yet. We might have better luck spotting something from that hill.”

He guided them a few more steps in that direction before his eyes widened. Across the side of the hill spread a familiar plant. Its green leaves were highlighted by shafts of golden light. Amber berries hung on thin stems like beads of gold.

Hand slipping down Moren’s arm, he slipped his fingers across a tattooed hand. Lucio announced, “Ooh, cloudberries! Too bad we don’t have any bottles.” He grinned like an imp at the magician. “I know how to make incredible liquor out of these. I used to break it out during the masquerade. Best thing for getting a party started.”

Dropping to a crouch, the Count plucked a handful of berries. He stretched Moren’s palm out then dropped a few into the man’s palm. The magician’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a grin. “Cloudberries, huh? You know, I make my own whiskey. Use grasp gourds to make the mash and distill it right in my shop.”

Lucio’s brows rose. “Really! We’ll have to have a tasting when I get my body back. See if my cloudberry punch is better than your grasp gourd whiskey.”

The apprentice snorted at him. “Puh-lease. My alcohol content can’t be beat. I’ll get you shit-faced within four sips, pretty boy.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Lucio tossed a few berries into his mouth and closed his eyes at the flavor. The sweetness rolled over his tongue, sending waves of nostalgia tingling through his head. The skin of the berries burst with a short pop, and he licked his bottom lip when juice trickled down his skin.

He sighed, “Mmm… Tastes like summer.”

Happily, Lucio threw more into his mouth. Though the berry was pleasant, there was an alcoholic twang he didn’t remember. The Count commented, “That’s not what I expected.”

Snickering at the turn of events, he eased himself down to the ground and flopped back first amidst the fruit. On a sigh, he said, “We won’t even need to hunt. Boozy berries are just fine with me.”

With a hand full of them, he began chewing on another round. Juice made his lips glossy. He was busily savoring the tingling sensation of an alcoholic buzz when Moren appeared over the top of him.

The magician had a handful of his own. He was laying down on his side, sampling the fruit one bite at a time. When liquid slipped down the corner of his lips, Lucio reached up to brush it away with his thumb.

Grey eyes followed the tongue licking juice remnants when Lucio asked, “You want some more? I don’t think they’re very strong.”  _ And watching you eat is extremely erotic. _

When Moren nodded, he plucked a berry from the magician’s palm and held it up to his lips. “Open up.”

Obediently, Moren did. Red lips pressed against the tips of Lucio’s fingers. The magician must have known how to tease him because instead of taking the berry outright, he nipped the skin with his teeth. Juice slithered down the thumb of Lucio’s golden prosthetic.

In a long sensuous sweep, Moren’s tongue swept across the metal. Only vaguely did Lucio notice two things. One was that the man’s talented tongue was pointed, and two was that he wore two spheres of gold on either side of the appendage.

Deep fuschia eyes held Lucio’s as his tongue reached the clawed tip of his thumb. The Count’s next breath caught in his throat. Ah, he wanted to know what that tongue would be like in places other than his thumb.

Eyes heavy lidded, Lucio teased, “Moren, you do realize that you can now say you’ve eaten out of the Count’s palm. Everyone in Vesuvia is going to be so jealous of you.”

Moren’s cheeks grew the warmest shade of crimson. He looked just as buzzed as Lucio felt. Swaying forward, Moren got close to Lucio’s ear. He purred, “What if we kept it our little secret, instead?”

Those words sent a thrill through the Count’s body. He leaned the side of his face against Moren’s. “But think about the bragging rights.”

Fingers slipped underneath Lucio’s vest. The magician’s nails were cool against his chest. Their sharp tips scraped lightly, teasing one of his nipples before going lower. Lazy circles strolled southwards. With each inch, Lucio’s heart pulsed faster. His blood followed the trail of Moren’s fingertip.

Right when the pad of his forefinger was toying with the waistband of Lucio’s pants did Moren speak. “I think,” he murmured, “that these berries are pretty strong.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Lucio leaned back to look over the magician’s handsome features. He put every detail into memory but asked, “Really?”

Hands moved against the ground in an attempt to stand. Everything felt tingly. The grasses tickled his hands, and he swayed sideways. Tumbling into Moren’s lap, Lucio smiled up at the man’s face. “Oops.”

Grinning back at him, Moren snickered, “You did that on purpose.”

Lucio had the audacity to look offended. Lips twisted in a mock snarl, he gasped, “I would never! Besides, what would you do even if I did?”

His words were little more than a series of giggles. His cheeks felt warm from the alcohol infused fruit they’d been tasting. Was it the liquor, or did Moren look especially kissable from this angle?

All of his dark hair framed a strong, wide jaw. It cradled a face that was somewhere between handsome and beautiful, but appealing nonetheless. Those big, full lips were held in a sarcastic grin. He looked ready to do mischief, and Lucio would like nothing more than to be his willing victim.

“You’re so cute like this,” Lucio admitted shamelessly.

His fingers reached up to trace Moren’s jawline. The magician caught a finger in his mouth. His mouth was a warm haven as it slipped around Lucio’s index finger. Suction held him tight, and Moren released him with an audible pop.

Oh, that was just playing dirty. Images flooded Lucio’s head. He could imagine those lips wrapped around something much better than his finger. All of Moren’s teasing would get the punishment it deserved if Lucio was in control of that mouth. He’d show the magician exactly where he could put that pointed tongue.

Tattooed fingers played in blond locks, and Lucio closed his eyes at the massage. Moren’s voice washed over him like a caress. “So are you,” he mentioned.

Giggling, Lucio gave him a wink. “So, are you still hungry?”

The innuendo wasn’t lost on Moren. He put his thumb and forefinger together to flick Lucio on the tip of the nose. “As much as I’d love to stay here and get wasted with you, we’re a man down. Let’s see if we can even stand up.”

Lucio sighed irritably. “I’ll have you know that I can hold my liquor. I can drink anyone under the table.”

Despite his confidence, the Count had to use Moren as a crutch when they got back on their feet. Neither one of them could stand without the other’s help. It took a montage of tumbling and picking the other back up before they could finally manage to stand.

Alcohol made them brazen. Moren’s hand went from supporting Lucio’s waist as they walked to cradling his ass. When Lucio commented on the contact, all the magician could say was, “If I’m not here to pick your ass up, we’ll stay on the ground until we sober up.”

He couldn’t argue that logic, so he retaliated with a sloppy kiss on Moren’s neck. It was both a mistake and a victory. The hand holding his backside clenched tightly. Breath escaping him, Lucio bit Moren.

A hand fisted in the Count’s hair. Moren used the leverage of his tight holds to fuse their bodies together. The kiss they shared was drunken, sloppy, and frantic. By the time they slowed down, Lucio was drawing in breaths on Moren’s exhalations. They were bloody breathing for each other as they stumbled down the hill.

Unfortunately, sobriety soon reared its ugly head. Once the fog cleared from his skull, Lucio gave a roll of his shoulders and a flexing of his arms. He checked out where Moren was doing that eyes-closed-breathing-slow routine of magical hound dogging.

“Huh,” he observed. “No headache, no nothing. I should take some of these berries back to Vesuvia.”

Bright eyes opened up, and Moren reminded, “They’re not physical, Lucio. We’re in a magical realm.”

A nervous grin played on his lips. “Oh, right. That’s a shame. Still, it gave me an idea for the next masquerade. Fountains of sparkling cloudberry punch, overflowing in the ballroom.”

He displayed his arms in a dramatic gesture for effect. After settling them back at his sides, he looked wistfully at the berry patch. It really was a shame he couldn’t take them back to Vesuvia with him. They would be one hell of a hit.

* * *

Their trail went on for hours as Moren tracked the trail of Asra’s magic. With each twist and turn they took, the magic waxed and waned. He felt like he was chasing after the phases of the moon with every step against the tundra.

Steadily, the ground grew softer. The sky overhead returned to darkness. Another day was passing in this confusing realm, and they were no closer to finding Asra. It was a troublesome predicament.

Wiping the heel of his palm against his forehead, Moren attempted to hide the strain all his magic usage was putting on his body. They’d been trekking through the realms for so long without any true rest. Moren needed to return to the physical world to recharge. His astral body could only be separated for so long.

Feet sloshed against gooey earth for another step, and Moren exhaled impatiently. When his eyes cut to glare at the dirt, they instead widened. A bright red liquid was oozing from the grasses they stepped on.

To make sure he wasn’t seeing things, Moren looked at Lucio, but the Count was just as shocked as he was. The magician’s gut dropped to his feet. This liquid was thick, resemblant of blood. Strangely, though, it didn’t stick to their shoes. Truly, it looked like water—water contaminated by the stain of the Red Plague.

Lucio’s voice cut through Moren’s disturbing observation. “Are you sure we have to go this way?”

Moren picked up one foot and watched the liquid trail down his sandals back to the ground. Frowning at it, he replied, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is where I’m sensing Asra’s magic.”

Lucio stayed silent. The further they walked, the deeper the plague water got. It was soon sloshing up around their ankles, staining Moren’s pants.

On patches of moisture dipped moss, red beetles scuttled. The sound of their movements made Moren’s gut churn. He looked around. Those beetles were shadowing them. They pooled where their footprints were left in the moss.

A sense of foreboding laid itself across Moren’s shoulders. It drew up the hairs on the back of his neck. Lucio looked more disturbed. His already pale skin had grown paler. Was that cold sweat beading against his forehead?

He asked, “Uh, is there anything you can do about this, Moren? You know, magic it all away.”

If the Count wasn’t so attractive, Moren would have railed at the insult. As things stood, he just blinked at the dumbest question he had ever heard. Sarcastically, he replied, “No, Lucio, I can’t just  _ magic  _ it all away. That’s not how magic works.”

More importantly, he was running out of juice. His magical energy was running on fumes. If he didn’t get some good rest soon, Lucio would be hauling him around by the ankles. He had little idea what he’d do if another—he shivered at the thought—worm demon showed up.

Looking like a scolded child, Lucio blushed. “Oh, I thought…”

The Count’s words faded to a mumble, and Moren rubbed his forearm across his face. Oh, he was getting so tired. Moving his legs was like hauling around blocks of concrete.

Still, Moren was a worrier. He had to ask, “What’s up, Lucio? I can tell something’s bothering you.”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know, just… I hate bugs.”

Moren shook his head. He was dancing around the problem. Looking at the distant treeline, Moren said, “That’s it? You hate bugs?”

Lucio bit his bottom lip nervously. Eyeballing the growing bug count, he replied, “I hate how they move, but I’ll be happier as soon as we get out of here.”

Slowly nodding, Moren kept up their punishing pace. More hours passed, and soon the horde of bugs turned into a battalion. Then, the battalion became an army. Gulping, the magician kept looking at Lucio. His nervous glances and accelerating pace were obvious signs that something deeper than a fear of bugs was concerning him.

Any normal person would have just screamed and ran. Lucio looked at the beetles like they might share some deep held secret. Quickly, they painted the tundra red. Their tightly packed bodies pulsed on each step.

Picking up his booted legs, Lucio slapped away the beetles that began to climb him. “Get off!” he shrieked. “Get away!”

He might as well have been arguing with the wind. The beetles surged towards him like he was their midnight snack. Oddly, they didn’t move at Moren. They passed him entirely to get at the Count. Lucio’s stomping tempo increased.

“Leave me alone already! What did I do to deserve—”

A shriek rode on the air above them, and Moren’s head jerked skywards. The massive eagle from earlier had reappeared. It cried so loudly it might as well have been rousing the dead when it dove through the swarm.

It was the end of the line for Lucio. His entire face became a visage of wrath. To the circling bird, he screamed, “Go to hell, Jæger! I’ll send you there myself!”

Snatching a rock up, he hurtled it towards the bird. It twisted around to make Lucio’s aim look pathetically weak.

“Jæger? Do you… know that bird?” Moren wondered.

Eyes wide, Lucio took a shocked stumble. He corrected his footing at the last second. He barked, “No!” before weaving a new sentence. “I mean, well, I wouldn’t say we’re bosom friends…”

His voice was loud. It rose with every word on a wave of fear.  _ What have you done now?  _ Moren asked to the beetle-filled sky.

The insects were blotting out every shining star in the blackness of night. Continually, they descended to grow closer. The more they did, the faster Moren’s heart raced. He had to get them out of here.

Lucio hastened at Moren’s side, almost passing him by. “This isn’t happening,” he cried. “It’s just a dumb magic trick. It isn’t real!”

His hysteria only seemed to fuel the environment around them. The louder he shouted, the denser the infestation became. Understanding hit Moren like a bolt of lightning.

Grabbing Lucio’s shoulder, he spun the man to a halt. “Lucio!” Moren called out. “Lucio!” The Count shook his head. His eyes and teeth clenched hard.

Moren’s grip increased. “Lucio, pay attention to me! You’re affecting the beetles. It’s responding to you!”

His eyes flashed open. The red sclera burned accusingly at the magician. “What? That’s impossible! It’s Asra’s fault that we’re here.”

Moren shook Lucio lightly. His teeth snapped on a hard grind. Calm was in short supply with each sweep of the beetles.

Staring hard at Lucio, he explained, “This realm is magical, and magic reacts to thoughts and emotions.  _ You’re  _ doing this, whether you realize it or not.”

Blankly, Lucio stared at him. His eyes were unfocused. His bottom lip quivered. Shouting to be heard over the surging of beetle’s legs and wings, Moren yelled, “Think! Do you know anything at all about these beetles?”

“I—but I—” He closed his eyes so hard that lines appeared on his eyelids. “It wasn’t my fault!” he confessed. “It wasn’t my fault, okay? If Vlastomil had held up his end of the bargain…”

Slightly, the swarm thinned. Moren drew his brows in tightly to stare at Lucio’s guilty face. Vlastomil? What did he have to do with any of this?

“Vlastomil?” he asked, slowly taste testing every word to make sure they were the right ones. “Praetor Vlastomil, the courtier?”

Lucio nodded hard. “Yeah, that slimy loser.” He looked away. “We’ve known each other for a long time. He… was on the rocks a while ago, and I’m a generous sort. So, I decided to help him out.”

Moren’s grip eased as he listened to the Count’s confession. Lucio stepped off to the side like being so close to Moren was much too personal. “We struck a deal. I offered to bring him some hearts, and he offered me power in exchange.”

Tilting his head, Moren put two hands in his pockets. Hearts? Power? He’d heard of people making deals with magical beings for such things, but those deals were deadly. They never ended the way one wanted them to. Had Lucio…

He didn’t have to finish the thought. Of course, Lucio had struck a deal. It was too in-line with everything he’d been told by Asra. It also went well with the state of Vesuvia’s various regions.

“Power?” Moren sounded.

Lucio finally made eye contact with the magician. “Yeah, I wanted to slay my enemies, see them driven before me. The usual.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You need power to get anywhere in this world, Moren. You’re a magician. I thought you knew that.”

Exhaling a breath hot with irritation, Moren studied the stars between the beetles. They were much thinner now, so seeing the sky wasn’t so hard of a feat. Still, deals with devils and blood rites in exchange for power were never smart ideas. It was like shooting cocaine. Yeah, you got a high, but once the addiction set in, was it really worth the cost?

His head cocked backwards as he looked at Lucio as if the man were some perplexing thing at the end of a microscope. “Lucio, what does Vlastomil have to do with the beetles?”

Arms splayed out wide. Lucio snapped, “They’re his fault! Vlastomil cheated me! He didn’t give me enough power to get the hearts he wanted.” His statement was punctuated with some intense pacing.

The Count continued, “So, I thought… to hell with him. The deal’s off. I don’t have to hold up my end of the bargain.”

“Well, how do you do?” Moren muttered, using his catch phrase for when things went beyond what he could imagine.

Lucio either didn’t hear him or pretended not to. “When I didn’t give Vlastomil his stupid hearts, the red beetles started following me around.” He stomped on one of the straggling beetles. “I don’t think Vlastomil sent them himself. He’s not a beetle guy. They just appeared one day.”

On reflex, he rubbed the back of his neck with his golden hand. He was glaring at the ground when he spoke. “Are you happy now? That’s everything I know about the beetles. They’re Vlastomil’s fault.”

This time, when he looked up, his grin was wide and pleasant. Moren wasn’t buying the bullshit. Underneath his pocket, his fingers were doing their irritated nail rubbing. Because on a close examination of the Count, not even Lucio was believing his deflection.

The man’s shoulders were hunched. One foot jogged up and down like he wanted to run away. Moren wouldn’t allow him to do it. He’d sooner kill the Count himself than let him cut loose without owning his sins.

Magic was a soft spot for Moren. It allowed him to relearn how to communicate, to eat, and to move. Without it, he’d probably still be a puddle of ignorant mush at Asra’s feet. His master deserved better than a complete dumbass for an apprentice. Seventy percent dumbass was the maximum amount, and Moren had met that threshold two years ago.

Holding Lucio with a little bit of magic that forced them to look each other in the eye, Moren growled, “It’s also  _ your  _ fault, Lucio. You share some of the blame.”

“What!?” Lucio yelped.

A hand flung to his chest. The other slung towards the open expanse of nothingness around them. “Morand, how could you say that? I just told you it was Vlastomil!”

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Moren summoned every bit of patience he could.  _ Arache, grant me the power not to strangle this attractive heap of trash,  _ he prayed to the clan Asra had said Moren once belonged to.

One brow raised, he asked, “Did Vlastomil force you to bargain with him?”

“Er… no.”

“So you made a deal willingly, then you reneged when things didn’t go the way you wanted them to?”

“Weren’t you listening? I wanted to finish it all, pay up, but then Vlastomil didn’t—”

When Lucio finally realized Moren wasn’t backing down, his hands threw themselves into the air. He paced a few small tracks. “Ugh! Think whatever you want, it doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past.”

“The past…” Moren thought carefully about those words. He breathed in the lingering stench of plague in the air. He watched as red contamination eased towards the cool earth. Feet still, he withdrew a hand from his pants and tapped a nail against his thigh.

“What about the past?” Lucio growled.

“The forest from the South, the cave that we passed, and these beetles,” Moren muttered to himself rather than anyone else. Turning to Lucio, he explained, “They’re all from your past. That’s what we’ve been seeing. I’m only surprised I didn’t realize sooner.”

Lucio looked tempted to walk off and leave Moren here to figure things out for himself. Luckily for the Count, he chose to stay. He pouted, “Then why can’t we see better things from my past? Awesome parties and glorious victories?”

“That’s a great question, my dear Count. Would you care to enlighten me?” When Lucio bared his teeth right back, Morand stretched his arms to the sky carelessly. “Look, magic is very personal, so you probably have the answer to that. I don’t have to hear it. I trust that you’ll tell me when you’re ready to, anyway. Just don’t let it get in our way.”

The statement both surprised and worried the Count. He focused his attention on a lovely bit of moss that was a cross between auburn and blood orange. Mentally exhausted, the Count sighed, “Let’s just keep looking for Asra. We can’t leave this place soon enough.”

Moren nodded. Sensing Lucio needed some space, he directed his black sandals in the direction of Asra’s warmth. “I think we’re close.”

Asra’s magic felt stronger and stronger. Now that the beetles were gone, Moren could feel his master much clearer. Their thread was an almost tangible line that drew the apprentice in closer, but it wasn’t completely clean.

There was still something there. It was something odd, a thing he couldn’t place. They were far from the end of this journey.


	7. Undoing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I'm back again. As always, I want to thank the people who have left kudos and those who bookmarked this story. I'm glad you liked it well enough to come back to it!
> 
> In other news, this chapter was a friggin bear, and I have wrestled with it over and over again. I'm still not happy with a lot of the tonal changes and whatnot. [WARNING] Smut ahead! If you don't like that kinda thing, I would suggest reading about half of this chapter until the line break and then skipping over the last half. To those of you who do like smut. Enjoy!

One hill after another finally brought the duo to a change in scenery that threw Moren for a loop. Before him, an iron gate came into view. He could see it standing ominously in the distance.

It stood well over three times Moren’s height. Various lengths of iron curled to form jagged ends before ending on curved tendrils. Heat like walking into the mouth of a volcano burned through the air. It warmed Moren’s skin almost painfully.

Throughout the gate’s iron red-hot chains crawled. They were serpentine in nature. Various ones ebbed as if something was pulling them from an unseen end.

Pale fingers curled into the long sleeve on Moren’s belly top, and he turned to Lucio. The Count spoke, “Uh, not to question your magical skills, but are you sure this is it?”

Though he grimaced, Moren replied, “Yeah…”

Something like Asra’s magic was beyond this gate. It pulled at Moren’s subconscious. He was willed forward, but his legs didn’t move.

Like a young boy seeing his first dead animal, Lucio drew his sword. He reached out with the tip of the blade to test it against the gates. Instantly, the chains lashed out at him. He leaped back like he’d been stricken by a snake..

“Augh! Let’s just… not be here,” he hissed, nursing his hand where the chains had come far too close.

Readily, Moren agreed, “Yeah, you said it.”

Upon their first steps to escape, the iron gates swung open. Their heavy bodies groaned. A towering figure was silhouetted behind waves of heat.

The being was four horned and goat faced. Moren openly gaped at the appearance of the Devil Arcana himself. His blood turned to ice water, and the muscles of his legs quivered at the sound of the Arcana’s voice.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

On an inhalation, Moren whispered, “Oh, fuck me.”

Oblivious to the magician’s words, the goat bodied Arcana continued to step closer. Black hooves struck the ground with authority like the clack of a nobleman’s horse. Pitiless red eyes settled on Lucio.

To the Count, the Devil greeted, “Lucio, long time, no see.”

Like he could shrink himself behind Moren, Lucio took a step closer to him. His head shook in shock, disbelief. “Uh, listen. We took a wrong turn. We’ll just be… going now?”

When the Devil’s eyes narrowed, Lucio’s voice filtered down to feeble silence. Moren gulped. First, the worm demon. Then there’d been that big ass bird and the beetles. Now, the Devil himself was after Lucio! What the hell had the man been doing during the plague?

The clacking of the creature’s feet shifted in step, and Moren’s hand shot out to shield Lucio behind him. When the Devil came closer, Moren’s hands shook. It was nothing but an iron will that kept him from backing out of the way.

Ignoring the magician entirely, the Devil spoke, “Going? I think not.”

All the teeth in his head came on display via a grin that could only be described as evil. Everything about this being oozed wickedness. From the black markings on his forehead to his twisting horns and black tippet scarf, he appeared as… well, the Devil.

Shaking his head in disappointment, the Devil explained, “You’ve been avoiding me. Reneging on your debts, hiding from your friends. It’s time we had a little chat, Lucio. Just you and I.”

With a sweep of his long, clawed hand, he waved Moren aside. The movement was contemptuous, belittling. “Move,” the Devil ordered, “You are of no concern of mine.”

Though his fingers trembled in their white knuckled fists, Moren lifted his chin. He spoke firmly. “No.”

An amused chuckle rolled from the Devil’s black lipped mouth. It made rocks settle in Moren’s gut. This Arcana was a creature with whom one should not fuck.

“Hmm.” He walked around Moren’s front and examined the magician. “I see Lucio 

has found himself a bird of a feather. Another overconfident fool who never learned manners. How very disappointing.”

As if his words were some cue, the chains from the gate crawled closer. They slithered across the earth like vipers, hissing and rattling. With their nearness came a heat so fierce it summoned the moisture from Moren’s skin.

Scorching heat yanked the very air from his lungs. The chains struck. Fiery brands threw him and Lucio onto their knees. The pain was unyielding. It burned and burned. His vision blurred in a haze of agony and sweat.

Beside him, Lucio whimpered, “No… no—”

His words were choked in his throat. The chains were worse than hands being wrapped around his neck. They abided by the creature casting its horrendous and massive shadow over their bodies.

Simply, the Devil said, “You can only run for so long.”

More chains came forward, and Moren worked to turn his terror into fury. Yes, anger was much easier to work with. Fear made one sit still. Fear kept people from acting.

This creature held them on their knees. It was holding a threat over Lucio’s neck like a hatchet. Moren wasn’t done with the Count, and he wasn’t done proving to Asra that he was so much stronger than what his master believed him to be.

Stretching an arm against his bonds, Moren muttered words in a language Asra had warned him not to remember. He didn’t know where the words had come from. He didn’t understand who had taught them to him. All he knew was that they were the names of his runes, a way to activate their power in a chain reaction.

“Ah, defiance at the last. I’m afraid—”

Moren gasped when his actions cut the Devil short. Fingertips slipped against the chains. His runes glowed over the entirety of his arm.

Snap! The chains broke from him in a power Moren didn’t believe was real, something that could silence the Devil. Something that could cut the weapon of an Arcana in two.

Angry, the Devil jerked back a step. He roared, “What is this?”

Heat subsided from his backwards teetering, and Moren could finally suck in a breath. Whatever had just happened had been exactly what he’d needed. Baring his teeth at the Devil, Moren snarled, “Get fucked, Short Horns!”

Footsteps scrambled from behind him, and Moren realized too late that Lucio had gotten loose. The Count’s golden hand snatched him like lost luggage. “Morand, get up! Run!”

Unable to think, Moren was hauled up on his feet. He tripped over his legs, limbs getting tangled in loose chains, but Lucio didn’t let it stop him. He tugged the magician clean from the metal. They darted away as quickly as they could.

“How did I even…”

Lucio shook his head hard. “I don’t know, but I’m glad it worked!”

In the growing distance, the Devil recovered. His malevolent glare was such a deep red that his eyes appeared black. He called, “Tiresome to the last. Very well, let us do this the hard way.”

His white furred arms rose upwards. Blood red smoke poured through the gates. It flooded the entire area in crimson. Any of the ground they’d gained became lost the minute their eyes were clouded in the red haze.

Holding Lucio tight, Moren darted blindly. Adrenaline had his breaths coming fast. His sweat ran across his body in thin rivers. Eyes watered from the sting of whatever miasma the Devil had released.

The gaseous fumes stung. Little licks of flame made heat lay into their eyes. The air smelt like fire, smoke, and pestilence.

“We have to get out of here!” Lucio screamed. “How do we get out of here?”

He spun in place, unintentionally moving in useless circles. Moren didn’t allow it to separate them. He tried to reach out with his magic, to connect them to some safe harbor. Fruitless. All he could sense was danger from every direction. They had enough incentive to run when soft chuckling came from behind them.

Ugh! Why did evil always have to be behind someone? Why couldn’t it ever be two inches to the left or a mile in front of them? Moren had no idea! All he knew was that they needed to get scarce quickly.

The Devil’s voice lulled, “Lucio, you could run to the ends of existence without hope of escape. You would be nothing without me.”

Feet slid to an immediate halt, and Moren rammed his nose into Lucio’s back. The Count didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead he jerked his head this way and that, searching for wherever the Devil was coming from.

“No, you don’t!” Moren snapped in front of his face. He tugged on Lucio’s arm. “You do not get to zone out on me now. Move!”

Though the mocking laughter came from every direction, Moren shouldered Lucio towards the right. The Count’s legs wobbled, threatened to crumple beneath him, but the magician sunk his nails into Lucio’s forearm.

The sharp digging of his almost claws was enough pain to get Lucio’s focus back together. He charged just behind Moren. They were making headway until something hard hit the magician’s foot.

Howling in pain, he sprawled onto a surface smooth and cold. Ice?

“Someone get me out of this cliche!” Moren snarled. He held his foot, barely registering the blood pooling across his leg.

Lucio’s shiny boots looked matte in this red world. “Look!” he cried.

Following the direction of Lucio’s shivering index finger, Moren looked down. Ah, hell no. They were on ice! It was chilling but thin like the shell of a goose egg. Long, shadowy shapes swirled underneath it.

From somewhere unseen, Moren heard a tremor. He heard a crack. Fissures split. They raced towards them as if eager to see their downfall.

On reflex Moren snatched Lucio’s hand. Just as they made eye contact in the thick smoke, another shape came into form. The Devil didn’t even have the decency to charge them. He stood at the shoreline. A malevolent grin showed off every deadly canine.

“Tsk. Tsk. All too easy,” he snickered.

Lucio’s fingers were tight on Moren’s. The Count prayed, “Oh, no. No, please. This can’t be happening!”

Begging was futile. The fissures caught up to them in less than a single second. One moment they were perfectly dry and scared for their lives. The next, the ice was splitting, and Moren knew that getting out of this wasn’t going to be as simple as running away.

They plunged through the ice. Lucio’s cries became incoherent gurgles. In the cold water, Moren felt so much weaker.

The heat that had stolen his breath was nothing compared to the shock of this icy water. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even shiver for warmth. His body was cocooned in pulsing undercurrents.

Only one thing kept him from keeping his eyes shut through it all, and that was the feel of a still living body. Lucio’s fingers were intertwined with Moren’s. He could feel the Count fighting to survive.

When he opened his eyes beneath the water, he could see Lucio’s legs kicking towards light. Moonlight! The giant rock in the sky was ebbing at the surface of the water, and Lucio was dragging Moren to it despite the magician’s dead weight.

Conjuring the last reserves of his strength, Moren powered through it to swim upwards, too. Their heads broke the surface at the same time, and Moren immediately began to cough. Brackish water slung from his lips where he’d been choking.

A stone dock smacked against their bodies. When Moren could stop coughing enough to really look around, he saw a lake that looked almost endless. It was frigid. Ice clung near the shoreline.

“What the…” Moren coughed up more water. “Where are we?”

Ever the survivor, Lucio had already pushed himself on his hands and knees. He was shivering from the cold, but he responded, “I don’t know, but it has to be better than…”

The rest of his words didn’t come. One of his fingers rose up as if being summoned to motion by something across the water. It didn’t take a magician to know what it was.

The Devil stood on the opposite shore. His huge reflection stretched impossibly over the lake’s surface. Water that had tried to drown Moren was now deathly still, like a pane of ice frosted glass.

Lazily, his arm rose across the water in a shadow. Monstrous claws were held outstretched. Moren could see too easily their sharpness even in this silhouetted form.

Lucio yelped, “How can he reach us? This isn’t even fair!”

Moren couldn’t have agreed more. Groaning, he tried to move, but his muscles were gelatin. His magic reserves were replete. He flopped onto his face like a dead fish.

“Oh, this is just—Move it, Moren!”

Hands scooped the magician under each armpit. As if he were a fallen domino, Lucio sat Moren back up. The Count supported him with one shoulder.

They half stumbled/half dragged themselves away from the shore. In front of them lurked a huge, limestone wall. An archway had been carved into it.

Despite Moren’s almost finished state, it looked like shelter to him. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. It was his body that was trying to fail him.

Lucio hefted Moren up roughly. “There! Through the archway.”

The Count’s gauntlet dug into Moren’s side, but he was so weak he hardly felt it. With a last look, he appraised the Devil. There was no expression on the Arcana’s face. It was emotionless, unfathomable.

Yet, he still took a last swipe at Lucio. Shadowy claws missed the Count’s elegant cape by scarce inches. Lucio panted, “Faster, Moren! Move faster!”

In a frantic surge, they hastened through the doorway. Behind them, the Devil prepared for another swipe. The moment their bodies were securely behind the archway, the wall groaned shut. Stones moved firmly into place.

As it sealed, the Devil’s lips pulled backwards in an unpleasant surprise. His claws bounced harmlessly off the cold stone. They were safe. They’d made it. For now, Moren’s knees hit the stone floor with loud, twin cracks.

* * *

They’d made it! Somehow, the two of them had survived drowning and capture at the hands of the Devil.

When the realization hit him, Lucio gasped out breaths he didn’t know he’d been holding. Bracing himself on a limestone wall, he slid down beside Moren. The other man looked ready to collapse.

He panted hard on his hands and knees. His once flowing hair slumped in thick tendrils like the arms of a sea creature. He wouldn’t have made it much farther. They’d made it out just in time.

After catching his breath, Lucio looked at the area they’d been sealed within. It was fortress-like. Massive walls climbed high to threaten the sky with their reach. Stray vines were the only things that dared fight its vertical fortitude.

Snarling his upper lip, he asked, “Where are we?”

Moren didn’t answer. His weary head lifted. Lucio followed the stare.

A crossroads was just up the way. One path stretched left, another right. A third was shielded by darkness.

“It’s a… labyrinth of some kind?” Moren’s breaths settled, and he tucked his legs underneath him. “It’s probably also magical.” Now that they weren’t on the run, he looked as if the color was coming back into his skin. Wishful thinking?

Curious, Lucio tested the walls with a smack of his knuckles. The architecture was solid enough. Solid enough to keep the Devil out? He hoped so.

He must have said that aloud because Moren responded in kind. “The entrance closed behind us. He didn’t follow us in.”

“Good. I’ve had enough of him for the rest of my life.”

As soon as he spoke the words, he regretted them. Already, he could see the calculating look on Moren’s wise face. The man made a fitting investigator. His curiosity was boundless.

Shifting in a seat that suddenly felt uncomfortable, he watched Moren examine him. “Lucio?” came the address he’d known would follow such a thorough study. “How do you know the Devil?”

Ah, and there was the question he knew Moren would ask. Flinching at the accusation, Lucio covered himself with a smile. “What? Me? Know the Devil? What gave you that idea?”

The frown the magician gave him reminded him too much of someone else he’d disappointed in his life. How could he be attracted to someone who reminded him of that woman? Inquisitive Moren should never meet her.

Deflecting his evasive comments, Moren observed, “He said something about your debts. What was he talking about?”

Lucio just kept bobbing and weaving. “You saw him just now. He’s terrifying. Why would I have anything to do with him?”

The magician’s sigh made him want to crawl under a rock, but he held firm to his stance. Moren didn’t need to know Lucio’s sins. There were too many to count, and… he didn’t like revisiting all the crimes he’d committed in his life.

He needed Moren on his side right now. The man wouldn’t want anything to do with him if Lucio exposed his truth, so he did the only thing he knew he could right now. He grabbed the magician’s chilled hand and kissed the palm of it to warm him up.

Offering a gentle smile, he changed the subject. “You know, I would’ve been in real trouble back there without you. There was nothing I could do about the Devil, but you Moren…”

He met Moren’s eyes and smiled proudly. “You were amazing! Did you see the look on his face when you broke his chains? He had us on our knees, at his mercy, but you kept your cool, did your magic and snap!” He snapped his fingers for effect.

Though the magician still didn’t look as if he entirely believed the Count, Lucio playfully nipped the tip of one of Moren’s fingers. These hands had saved them. He wanted a reminder of them in his life. Really would have to get an artist worth the money to paint this man and his female form. Both deserved to be remembered.

“You’re the best magician, and I’m so glad you’re on my side,” he admitted.

Stepping in closer, he drew Moren’s knuckles up to his lips. He kissed each one before lifting the hand. Rubbing the magician’s palm against the side of his face like a cat in need of a scratch, he began kissing upwards.

Moren’s serious tone cut through the attention Lucio was giving him. The magician asked, “You sound like you’re about to ask me for money. What are you buttering me up for?”

Eyes rounding, Lucio lifted his head in shock. His lips parted, opened, and shut right back. “Uh…” was his eloquent reply. After a few more blinks, warmth spread across his body, and he smiled gently at Moren.

What was it about this man that encouraged Lucio to be truthful? He’d never been so honest with another person in his entire life, not even his mother or his wife. Holding Moren’s hand in his golden one, he carefully rubbed his thumb against a tattooed one.

Lucio confessed, “Moren, I really meant what I said about you being a great magician and all.” His eyes darted to the side, and his easy smile broke into the nervous, teeth bared one he was more comfortable with. “But, maybe, I need to ask you something?”

Taking his hand from Lucio, Moren brushed a stray hair that must have fallen down on the Count’s forehead. He wiped away some sweat and said, “Lucio, you could just  _ ask  _ me. We’ve been through a lot. I’d think you’d trust me a little by now.”

Trust him? Hell, Lucio trusted Moren with his life. Time and time again, the magician had been at his side. He’d supported Lucio where so many others would have abandoned him. Why?

The Count didn’t have a clue. He was simply happy to have things be that way. It wasn’t like Lucio to ask questions when life was going in his favor.

One hand on his hip, Lucio admired the little frown line between Moren’s brows. “Yeah, sure I could, or I could shower you with compliments. Then, ask.”

He used two hands to hold the hand Moren had taken away. Laying it against Lucio’s chest, he leveled their gazes. For some reason, his heart stammered at the intensity of the situation. It was filled with a  _ something  _ he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.

“Moren, I…” A heavy sigh filled his chest. Ugh! Why couldn’t he get the words out? He’d asked for favors before. He’d dealt with bloody devils and demons. How hard did it have to be to ask Moren to stand by his side?

Looking for backup, he slid Moren’s hand up the opening where his bare chest was exposed to the cold air then up to his mouth. Butterfly light kisses danced across the magician’s fingertips.

To the tattooed symbols of male and female gender, he said, “I need your help. I don’t stand a chance against the Devil by myself but you… You’re clever, strong, cute, great at magic. If anybody could save me from him, you could!”

His words were grateful. He complimented them with a flirty wink. “And you know I’d be grateful, Moren. If there’s something I can do to pay you back, or to show you how awesome you are, just say the words, and I’ll do it.  _ Anything  _ you ask for.”

He put some zest into the word “ _ anything”  _ and bit his bottom lip. As much as he planned on getting Moren and Morand commissioned in his palace as priceless pieces of art, there were more physical ways to say thank you to someone. With any luck, Moren would choose something like that? Lucio hoped so.

Laying Moren’s hand on the side of his face, he admired the man. Though the magician had run with him through hell and back, those tousled curls and flushed face were adorable. One unruly curl stood straight up against the part of the magician’s hair. Lucio wanted to play with it, twining it between his fingers.

To the Count’s delight, Moren stroked his thumb against Lucio’s face. One brow raised, he asked, “You’d offer me anything I asked for?”

“Anything you want. Help me, and it’s yours.”

Taking the magician’s hand with him, Lucio slid down to his knees. He looked up at Moren with confidence despite the submissive angle. There were so many things he could do from this position that he didn’t mind, starting with Moren’s strong calves.

He leaned back on his haunches. “How about money? Power? As soon as I’m count again, I’ll spoil you rotten.”  _ And then some, _ his mind tagged on. “I’ll even throw a party or two in your honor.”

An idea struck. “Oh, or maybe some exotic pets of your own? I know just where to get them!” He could imagine Moren with some beautiful albino animal like something from his menagerie. Though the man was a magician, he didn’t have a familiar. What kind of magician didn’t have a familiar?

Moren looked to be pondering all of the Count’s suggestions. He raised his free hand up to his face and swayed until his weight was resting on one hip. When he spoke, Lucio eagerly awaited.

“I don’t know. This all sounds far in the future.”

Immediate gratification? Oh, Moren needed to be careful else he’d completely steal Lucio’s heart.

Hands found their way to the sides of Moren’s hips. The cut openings which revealed the magician’s lower legs flared. Lucio’s eyes went heavy lidded at the warm color of Moren’s skin. There were so many markings for him to kiss there and there… and even there. He noticed a swirl of black coming from the waistband of the magician’s pants.

To the dangly chain hanging at Moren’s waistline, Lucio clarified, “Don’t worry. I have plenty to offer right here and now. I’m the magnificent, talented Count! I know more than just how to swing a sword.”

Heat suffused his body, and he met Moren’s eyes on the last statement. “Just tell me what you want. I’m dying to hear it.”

A filthy grin upturned the magician’s lips. He sunk a hand in Lucio’s hair, fisting it against the Count’s skull. “Would you beg for my help?”

His genius response was a soft gasp. Thumbs played against the waistband of Moren’s pants. He roved until the fabric parted against skin. Then, he slipped his thumbs inside.

Proud of his acting skills, Lucio grinned. “Oh, this isn’t enough? I’d hate to leave you disappointed.”

Leaning back, he rested his weight on the heels of his bent feet. His hands rose out and up in supplication. “Moren, cutest and greatest magician in the entire world. Please, help me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no price too high, no task too difficult.”

The magician stepped in closer, brushing Lucio’s hands aside like they were unwanted accessories. Using the grip on the Count’s head, he tugged Lucio backwards to expose his throat. When the Count swallowed, his pale skin moved against lengths of muscle.

Lips parting on a gasp, Lucio waited for Moren’s next move. His pulse was erratic under the weight of anticipation. What would the magician do next?

“Say it,” Moren demanded.

“I’m begging you, Moren. Just look at me. I’m on my knees, completely at your mercy.” His eyes held a challenge when he looked into fuschia irises. “Think about all the things you could do with me like this.”

The smile Moren gave him was almost Lucio’s undoing. Hand still firm in the Count’s hair, he pushed Lucio back and bent down. Teeth scraped lightly against Lucio’s skin.

Warmth from the magician’s mouth breezed over him. The contrast of Moren’s heat to the chilly air made Lucio shiver. The play of hot and cold was torture. He wanted more. He would take his share.

Twisting, Lucio tried to kiss Moren, but he didn’t get far. A punishing grip kept him back. Moren growled, “Did I say you could move?”

_ No, sir!  _ Lucio’s mind instantly asserted.

Trying not to fidget at his need for more contact, Lucio finally giggled, “No.”

His obedience was rewarded. Moren got on one knee to fully press his lips to Lucio’s throat. That hand stayed in his hair. It guided the Count’s head from one side to the other during Moren’s adventure across his skin.

His kisses were amazing. He intermittently bit, licked, sucked, and kissed. Each press had Lucio shivering. He was thrumming with the need to pin Moren against something by the time he pulled back.

“Moren,” he pleaded. “Just let me kiss you already! Please.” He reached out and put a light hand on the magician’s wrist. His hands were shaking. Moren’s were steady. “Please.”

Smiling, Moren ran his hands down against the sides of Lucio’s face. He grabbed the man by the shoulders then picked him up. Apparently, the Count wasn’t the only one affected by their teasing.

Once Lucio was on two feet, he found himself shoved against a wall. Cold, hard stone struck his back. It pulled the air from his lungs, but soon, that too was taken from him. Moren’s hot, greedy mouth laid down.

His hands were everywhere. They pulled Lucio’s vest wide, getting more skin to skin contact. Once he was satisfied with that, he reached around the Count’s side to wrap his palm around Lucio’s ass. The grip was cruel but delightful. It thrust their hips together, and Lucio relished the aggression.

This was the kind of ferocity he enjoyed. A hot, heavy tumble out in the open where anyone could walk up on them. Not one to be outdone, Lucio put two hands on either side of Moren’s ass. He tried to be gentle with his gauntlet, but the magician wasn’t having it. He reached around to press Lucio in tighter.

“Harder,” he growled, gently thrusting as he kissed.

Ever the giver, Lucio did as commanded. Between his legs, he rivaled even the labyrinth walls for hardness. He needed more friction, more contact.

Eagerly, the Count met Moren thrust for thrust. Their bodies quickly synced into a rhythm where one took as the other gave. Breaths twisted between them, and it felt so fucking good.

Mindless, Lucio snatched Moren’s mouth for his own. He kissed the man’s lips. He bit them. When the magician’s hands clenched and he sucked in a breath, Lucio tasted him. Gods, Moren’s mouth was a hot wet haven.

While sucking Lucio’s tongue, Moren ground their cocks between them. When Lucio was given a chance for air, he looked down and stared. Moren’s abs were flexing in a pulsating rhythm. His golden chain glittered atop the bulge pushing against the fly of Lucio’s pants.

Groaning at the sight, Lucio lost all sense of thought. Their pace increased, and the Count spun to pin Moren on the wall. Hands gripped. Bodies rocked.

The hard feel of Moren made him shove his mouth against the magician. “You’ll get… anything… you want from me,” Lucio growled between thrusts.

Head flying back from Moren’s kiss, the Count gasped towards the sky. Moren continued to ride him. The magician’s leg wrapped around Lucio’s hip, and he howled, “Don’t stop, Mor. I’m gonna—oh fuck yes! Moren, I’m about to come!”

Just as his balls were tightening to release his seed in his pants, the magician untied them. Cold air only touched him for a second before disappearing completely. The weight that had pressed against Lucio’s torso was gone. His hands were thrown from Moren’s ass.

When he looked down to see what had happened, he almost lost his ever loving mind. There the magician was, on his knees before him and mouth locked around the length of his cock. The sight was too much. Any semblance of control Lucio might have had was pulled away by Moren’s last, hard suck.

Immediately, the Count’s gauntlet sunk into the wall behind him. His back bowed from the force of the best orgasm he’d ever felt in his entire gods damned life. Hands digging for purchase in the limestone, he thrusted jet after jet of semen between Moren’s devilish lips.

After shudders rocked him, and he could hardly catch his breath. Eyes towards the sky, all Lucio could do was stare heavenwards. Stars were twinkling above them. They were like voyueristic entities enjoying the show of two lust driven lovers.

When he glanced down and saw Moren licking him clean with that pointed tongue, his shaft jerked in response. It wanted a round two. Lucio didn’t think he could stand it. He’d seen stars with the first one. Surely, he’d faint on the second.

No one should have that kind of sexual power. What was the magician, an incubus instead of a man? Lucio could barely summon up the energy to care.

Instead, his hands slowly sunk towards his sides. The claws of his gauntlet slithered against the limestone in a scraping sound. Normally, such noise would be annoying. As things stood, Lucio could barely hear it.

Licking a pearly drop of semen off the slitted tip of the Count, Moren snickered, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Lucio groaned. His eyes slid shut, and he breathed, “I’ll have to remember that. Ask nicely.” Abruptly, an observation struck his mind, and he jerked on the spot.

The once hard length in Moren’s palm bounced out. Not one to be embarrassed, Lucio dropped to one knee. The only reason he tucked himself back into his pants was because it was so damned cold in this labyrinth.

Hands on Moren’s shoulders, Lucio barked, “But you didn’t come!”

The magician laughed at him. Shaking his head, Moren explained, “Lucio, it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, in this form you wouldn’t…” He cast his eyes down and looked more flustered than Lucio had ever seen him. He tried to veer off the subject by correcting, “Besides, I got what I wanted.”

Not having it, Lucio encouraged, “I wouldn’t…”

Nervously, Moren licked his lips. The Count was transfixed by the sight. That tongue had taken his pleasure. That throat had drunk him down. Lucio shivered.

In any other situation, he would have  _ demanded  _ a round two. Unfortunately, the expression on Moren’s face stopped him. The realization that they were in a labyrinth stopped him. Oh, yeah, and there was the little fact that the Devil was hunting them down at this very moment.

When Moren didn’t finish the sentence, Lucio tilted the man’s chin up with a curled finger beneath a wide jaw line. “You can tell me.”

The heartfelt words had Moren’s skin darkening on blush. “Er,” he began. “You, uh… You wouldn’t know because I’m… intersex.” He winced when the word came out, but Lucio didn’t get it.

Into sex? Yeah, he was, too. He loved it. Outside, inside, on his side. Lucio would take it anyway he could. Still didn’t explain why his magician was worried about it.

Moren must have known Lucio wasn’t following because the magician fidgeted in his spot. He played with his nails then spoke to the ground. “In-ter-sex. You know, it’s like when you look like a guy but have the parts of a woman. I mean, that’s the most basic explanation.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Moren stood up. Lucio followed. The magician took a few short steps to pace. Still confused, Lucio asked, “So, what you mean to say is that you look like a man but orgasm like a woman?”

“Yes and no. It’s…” The magician closed his eyes and exhaled. “When we came to this realm, my body changed into its natural form, my un-bespelled body. I shapeshift a lot. Sometimes, I use a woman’s body. Other times, I make myself fully male.”

Nodding his head, Lucio took the information in. Typically, he would have cried out that parts didn’t matter to him, but Moren didn’t look as if he needed that kind of loud reassurance. The Count had screwed up with so many people. With Moren, the idea of screwing up made his heart shrivel.

Thus, he merely said, “Ah.”

Moren blinked at him from over a bared shoulder. The look was innocent and a little bit frightened. Did he really think Lucio would shun him over this?

What an absolutely idiotic idea! Moren had been a Morand when they’d first met. He’d locked lips with him in the woods as a man, and he’d already been planning to get him into bed when he’d been in the body of a female.

Unable to hold it back any longer, Lucio laughed, “Please, Moren. I don’t give a damn what your genitals look like. I’ll have you know that I’m in-to-sex. When I get my body back, I’ll show you. Male, female, natural shape. I’ll take you when I can get you.” He laid his pupils directly in line with Moren’s. “You can bet your shop on that.”

His words must have been the right ones because Moren laughed behind his hand. His fingertips covered the tip of his nose and mouth. Only his eyes, barely open from his giant grin, could be seen. “I’ll hold you to that promise, my Count. But for now, we need to find a way out of here.”

Lucio’s eyes glittered. Yes, this mood he could handle. He teased, “Does this mean the best magician ever is going to help me after all?

Moren lowered himself to nip Lucio’s bare chest. “You were pretty convincing, and…”

“And very handsome, very obliging.” Lucio buffed his gauntlet on his chest.

The magician laughed at the Count. “Yes, true, but that’s not what I was going to say.” He looked over his shoulder. Tension strummed through a body Lucio had grinded into a relaxed state. “The Devil was furious at me, too. For better or worse, we’re in this together.”

Lucio nodded. “Looks like we are. It sounds weird, but I think we can take on the Devil.” He frowned at himself. “Maybe. Probably.”


	8. Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much in the way of sexy stuff in this chapter, but more along the lines of a doubtful Count. Y'all are about to catch up to all of my prewritten stuff, so I had better get scribbling faster. Unfortunately, Animal Crossing has been very interesting. Damn you, Nintendo, and your terraforming ways!!! Leave a comment if you feel like it. Those things just give me warm fuzzies or big concern. Do as you please, humanoids.

**Present**

The distant howl of some animal interrupted their heartwarming exchange, and Moren pulled away from Lucio. His eyes roamed down the various pathways the labyrinth offered. Was there something out there that didn’t want to kill them? Moren certainly hoped so.

Right after the sound, snow began to fall. Two heads looked up, and Moren tried to suppress his shivering. He really wasn’t dressed for winter.

A freezing gale blasted over the wall. It dumped a mound of snow at Lucio’s feet. The Count’s scowl should have melted it. “Snow here, too! For once, can’t we go somewhere nice?”

Moren exhaled. Had he already forgotten? Maybe, the distraction of the Devil had pulled it out of his head. “Lucio, when the beetles swarmed us, your emotions were affecting them.”

“Oh!” His eyes turned into twin moons. “That. Right. So you’re saying the snow.”

“The snow’s probably following you, too.”

Surprisingly, he cracked a small smile. “Alright, Lucio. Think warm, sunny, happy thoughts! Beaches, summer!”

To his credit, the wind subsided the least bit. Unfortunately, it was still cold. Moren’s skin tightened like it was trying to shrivel up for warmth.

Lucio threw a hand in the air. “Ugh! I really thought that would work.” He turned to his partner in crime. “So, any ideas for how to get out of here? You said the door closed behind us.”

Moren paused, listening for anything. There was nothing to hear. Everything was dead silent minus their conversation. He shrugged. “There might be another exit. Let’s try to make our way through it.”

Lucio’s confidence wavered with an apprehensive look to the vines that lingered in dry husks upon the stone. “Uh, I’ve never been good at this. I got lost in the hedge maze all the time, buuut I’ll take it over another round with the Devil.”

Peeking down each path they came across, Moren looked for signs of differences. Regrettably, each corridor was disturbingly uniform. Only small vines marked any kind of alteration.

For lack of any better choices, Moren took the left path. He trailed his pointed nails across the wall, grazing over limestone striations and bumps. Beneath his feet, the snow crunched.

It took time, but they eventually made it to a small and overgrown clearing. The air was musty, thick, and chilly. It was resemblant of breathing in cold soup.

“Gross,” Lucio complained beside him. He rubbed a hunk of mud off his boots using a nearby stump. “What do you think we’re supposed to—” His jaw sealed with an audible snap.

Backpedaling in the snow, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Moren cocked a brow, but Lucio didn’t elaborate too much. He spoke in an alarmed tone, “No! Oh, no no. We have to leave. Right now.”

Curious, Moren followed his fearful gaze. What he saw didn’t disturb him in the slightest. Two roughly-hewn headstones rested in the earth. They stood at odd angles over fresh, open graves.

The first headstone had Lucio’s name engraved in an elegant carving. The second had… Moren frowned. Yes, the second most definitely did have his name. He moved to take a closer look.

Seeing something sticking out of the grave dirt, the magician muttered, “Well, how do you do?”

With knees bent, he dusted away snow and dirt to pluck up the item that had been half-buried in the snow. It was a tarot card. The simple sight of it had joy surging through Moren’s heart. Asra?

Flipping over the decorated back, Moren observed the face of the card. Death stared back at him. With a scythe held in front of their skeletal, horse-like face, the thirteenth of the Arcana rested in Moren’s fingers.

The comforting voice of a much less enraged Arcana whispered through Moren’s head. It wasn’t in any understandable language, but the magician could have deciphered it had someone not been tugging on his arm. He whipped his head around to scowl at the Count.

Lucio yapped, “Did you not see our names on those graves? Let’s go already!” He sounded just as scared as he had when facing off against the Devil.

“Don’t get your cape in a twist. Wait while I try to…” The whisper of Death grew too light to hear. Moren held the card closer. He put it up to his ear like that would help them communicate better, but it was a fruitless effort. Death wisped away as fast as it’d come.

“Wait!” Lucio broke for a second time. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am. Here, look.” Turning the card to face him, Moren showed off Death’s image. Lucio flinched back and shook his head. The Count looked ready to cross himself like a superstitious Catholic.

“What does that have to do with anything?” His voice wavered a bit.

“I don’t know,” Moren replied in a noncommittal tone. “I would, though, if I could focus just a little bit more.”

The Count teetered on his heels, and Moren’s blood drained. Was he going to leave the magician here alone? They had agreed that they were in this together.

Instead of running immediately, Lucio backed up as far as he could. His eyes stayed locked on the empty graves. He looked as if he were waiting for something to rise from them, and immediately, Moren understood. Count Lucio was afraid of death.

What a sad thing to be scared of. Death was a transformation, a change to something new. If things never died off, people would still be wearing those hideous togas and bedsheets out in public.

Eyes on the grave dirt, Lucio stated, “Fine. Do your magic thing, then can we please go?”

After nodding at his scared Count, Moren returned to Death. The card had been warm before, but now it sat cold—cold and ominously silent.

Determined, Moren steadied his breathing and focused as much as he could. Those words Asra warned him not to think too deeply on came from his lips. In the Arache language, he whispered back, “Death. A transformation, a transition from the old to the new. Come on, guy. What are you trying to tell me?”

There came no clear answer, but something danced on Moren’s tongue. It played around in his conscious mind like a fluttering moth. On a sigh, the magician tucked the card in his pocket.

“You’re, uh, taking that with us?” Lucio asked.

“The answer might come to me later.”

Lucio gave an irritated huff from his nostrils and grabbed the fabric of Moren’s pink sleeve. The Count all but drug the magician out of the graveyard. When they returned to the bulk of the labyrinth, Moren was sure they had retraced their steps from before.

Yet, something was different. When they were clear of the graveyard, they made it to what might have been an unfamiliar intersection? Moren wasn’t sure. He was more worried about the Death in his pocket.

On a whim, Moren took a right turn. The Count wasn’t far behind him. He kept a close pace. Every now and then, the backs of their hands would brush together. With each bit of contact, Lucio would look at him.

The reaction made him frown. Was Lucio thinking about the card in Moren’s pocket, or was he thinking about what they’d done in the labyrinth a few hours ago? The magician knew which one of the two he’d rather be focused on.

Teeth took hold of the back of Moren’s bottom lip, and he tried to keep his face out of Lucio’s line of sight. Just thinking back to the way Moren had dropped to his knees made his cheeks flame. He hadn’t been trying to get Lucio to orgasm.

He’d actually been a little more invested in his own pleasure, to be honest. The way they had pressed into each other was better than putting on a new pair of tailored gloves. The two of them had fit, narrow hips to Moren’s wider ones.

Then, there was the feel of Lucio’s shaft. The Count had been as hard as the metal he wore. How could anyone expect Moren not to rub up against that length when being wound around the Count felt so great?

He hadn’t had sex since he’d woken up from his coma/disaster/whatever had stolen his memories. He’d been too busy running a shop and learning how to “human” all over again. Sex had been reduced to smutty romance novels and bawdy plays that left Moren’s body humming with suppressed tension. Basically, the magician had masturbated. A lot.

Thus, when a virile, attractive person expressed an interest in him, Moren took the guy up on his offer, and it had been just as good as fantasy had cracked it up to be. In the magician’s eyes, he was practically a thirty-two year old virgin. How terrifying! He couldn’t imagine all of the kinks, positions, and lovers he’d missed out on.

Really, though, had Moren even had a lover before the amnesia had struck? Was there someone out there in the world who wondered where their spark and flame infused mage had run off to?

Not interested in digging too deep into thoughts that would induce a headache, Moren looked back at Lucio. The handsome Count had a worried crease between his drawn brows. He was peering at Moren like the magician was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

That was not the look someone had when they were daydreaming about grinding on a stiff cock in the middle of a danger zone. Face red from the direction of his thoughts, Moren blurted, “What is it?”

“Your lips are turning blue,” Lucio pointed out. He reached forward, catching the magician by complete surprise. Body gone still, Moren let the Count run a thumb over his bottom lip. He could barely feel the contact.

The realization was a cruel reminder of the predicament the two of them were in. All thoughts of Lucio’s lower half went down the proverbial drain. Oblivious to Moren’s filthy daydreams, the Count eased in towards him.

“Come here,” Lucio encouraged. He put an arm around the magician’s shoulders. “And walk faster. It’ll keep us both warm.”

Though his skin heated from blush, it wasn’t enough to fight off the chill in the air. Snowflakes still danced on a frigid wind. They laid on Moren’s mostly exposed skin and lingered.

To the magician, Lucio explained, “You should tuck your arms and hands in. Keeps your fingers from freezing.”

Though Moren was curious as to how the Count of a warm city like Vesuvia knew all of these helpful tricks, he obeyed. Lucio set the pace for them. It was brisk but energizing, much better than Moren’s daydreaming stroll through this frozen maze of stone walls and dead vines.

Beside him, Lucio gave off plenty of body heat. Moren couldn’t resist snuggling in closer. The Count liked that. He shamelessly winked when they made accidental eye contact.

After a while, Moren finally spoke. He mentioned, “You don’t seem bothered by the cold.”

The smile that had been teasing his lips immediately fell. He scowled at snowflakes like he wanted to punch them. “I don’t like it, but I know how to cope with it.”

_ And just like that I remember how little I actually know about you, _ Moren mused in silence. They kept the comfortable quiet for several moments. When Moren shivered, Lucio would hold him closer. When Lucio looked tired, Moren would lay his head against the Count’s face.

They were supporting each other without words, working as a team to make this awful situation bearable. Had Lucio not been with him, Moren doubted he could have come so far. On his own, it would have been impossible, but Lucio had been there for him each step of the way.

Granted, the Count did everything in his own style. Moren did as well. The best part about it, though, was that their methods seemed to compliment each other.

Lucio was all arrogance and bluster. Moren was more grounded but adventurous. They made a good team, as different as they were similar.

Breathing out, Moren watched little puffs of steam roll off his lips. His air twisted with Lucio’s. The smoke played together in blending turns before dissipating onto a backdrop of limestone walls.

A sudden fidget caught Moren’s attention, and he looked up at Lucio. The Count was twitchy. His shoulder moved on the magician’s back. His right hand drummed unintentionally on Moren’s arm.

Curious, Moren looked around them. There was nothing to really pay attention to. The path beneath their feet reverberated the sounds of Lucio’s tall boots and the slapping of the magician’s sandals.

Whenever Moren took in a breath, he smelt the cold. It held a hint of Lucio’s natural fragrance, evergreen and leather. Other than that, it was essentially scentless.

“What’s your favorite color?” Lucio’s voice bursted out so suddenly the magician jumped a bit. “Er, I mean… You know, it’s quiet here. I hate quiet. I’m used to music, laughter. Big parties and lots of entertainment. This silence is just awful. How can you stand it?”

Amused that Lucio would have come up with that question of all the conversation starters, Moren replied, “Fuschia. Kind of like my favorite flower, the fuchsia. As for the quiet…” The magician shrugged. “It’s not too bad. I live alone when Asra isn’t around, so I’m pretty much used to it.”

“Do you always stay in your shop? It’s got to be boring. I couldn’t spend all day in one little area. I’d lose my mind.”

_ I’d just bet you would. _ Instead of voicing that thought, Moren said, “I don’t spend all day in the shop. I go to the market. I teach the local orphans how to get away with theft. I even go to plays, for your information.”

“Teach the orphans how to get away with theft?” Lucio replied, his brows scaling upwards.

Oops. For a minute there, Moren forgot he was talking to a guy who lived his excessive lifestyle based upon the taxation of others. Before he could get an attitude with the magician, Moren pinched him on the butt.

The act got a little yip to come out of Lucio’s throat in surprise. Smirking at him, Moren explained, “Of course, I do. Those kids don’t have parents. They can’t afford to feed themselves. If they don’t steal or get handouts from people, they’ll starve. I’m not going to let people die in my city just because the city’s leaders aren’t helping.”

He frowned at her. “They could always get a job.”

“Tell that to the toddler just learning to walk their first steps, or the teenager who smells so bad that the only job he can get is shovelling pig shit for whatever few coins the local farmer can give him. At the end of the day, he still can’t feed his family.”

“Why do you even care what happens to them?”

Instead of being offended by Lucio’s detached question, Moren tilted his head at the sky over them. It was getting darker still. After mulling over how to answer the Count, the magician admitted, “Because if it wasn’t for Asra, there’s no telling where I would be right now. I owe him everything. He taught me how to live again.”

The words weren’t a comfort to the Count. He scrutinized Moren’s face with a softly held grimace. He almost sounded a little jealous when he said, “You sound like you’re really close to him.”

The hint of aggravation in the Count’s words shouldn’t have made Moren’s heart stutter, but it did. The two of them had shared passion together. The Count couldn’t want more with him. Could he?

Shaking off the childish giddiness that had walked over him, Moren studied the mortar between the stones they walked atop. “How could I not be? To me, Asra is…” He paused to come up with the right words and fell short. “Asra is everything.”

“Do you love him?”

* * *

_ Do you love him? _ In all his life, Lucio had never cared about the answer to a question like that. Now that he had his attention on a magician with a faraway look in his eyes, though, that question somehow mattered? Lucio’s lips twisted like he’d just eaten cheap seafood.

The way Moren looked to the sky was as if he was picturing the magician,  _ Asra _ , right now. The man’s eyes had gone heavy lidded, dreamy even. A look of pleasant satisfaction made one corner of his lips curl.

Lucio felt his fists tighten.  _ He  _ wanted to be the one Moren thought about with that faraway look in his eyes. Too often, Lucio had laughed at the fairy tale ideas of falling in love and happily ever afters.

To him, a happily ever after was sitting in the best palace in the city with the entire region in love with your very existence. He liked to be loved. He loved to be feared. Power was his fairy tale, but it wasn’t everyone’s.

Asra hadn’t been pleased when he’d seen Lucio with Moren. Moren daydreamed about his master like the man had hung the moon. A lot of people settled down into monogamous relationships. They made a family. They had kids. Was that Moren’s version of a fairy tale?

Moren’s laughter had Lucio’s grimace making deeper furrows in his brows. “Love him?” the magician guffawed. His voice danced down the corridor. “Of course, I do.”

Those words sank a hand around Lucio’s heart and gripped. Lucio wanted Moren. He lusted after the magician like he’d lusted after no other. What would happen when all of this was over?

Would Moren go back with Asra to their little shop in the middle of town? Lucio wouldn’t allow it! He would have the magician live in the palace, install Moren as his concubine or, better yet, marry him to prove Lucio’s superiority. Asra could visit when he wanted, but Moren would be his, not the master magician’s.

Then, he felt his chest grow even tighter. Would that make their relationship change? Lucio liked what he had with Moren right now. The magician had admitted to knowing nothing of the Count’s prior accomplishments and prestige. Moren had met him with no prior knowledge other than the thought that he was a dead man, and he’d still taken care of him.

If Lucio forced his hand, would Moren grow to hate him? No. Surely, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Lucio was, after all, the wonderful and valiant Count. Who wouldn’t want to be his spouse or concubine?

The magician’s sensual, smoky voice filled his head, and Lucio parted his lips to argue all the reasons he was better than Asra. But, he stopped. Moren’s straight teeth were on display in a look of happiness. His mouth was moving, yet the Count wasn’t entirely focused.

He must have caught the end because he did hear, “—but enough about us. I want to know about you and Nadia. She says you’re her ex, but you were married for six years. You both seem so opposite.”

“I was drunk.” The answer fell off his tongue before he could think it through.

Moren snickered with his canines flashing. “It makes a lot more sense now.”

“Sense?”

“Yeah. You’re loud and rambunctious. She’s calm and methodical. While you’re flying by the seat of your pants into hedonism, she’s sitting in the background. You two don’t fit.”

Lucio slowed his steps for a second. The words marinated in his head, and he replied, “No. We didn’t. She’s amazing, talented. That door in the library with all the gears and locks was her creation. She makes puzzles for Chandra, uh… her owl, and does all kinds of things that I just don’t have the time or patience for.”

“But you still proposed?” Moren leaned forward to give Lucio a good view of his face.

Hand waving the words away, Lucio replied, “It was a marriage of power. The Satrinava family has many children, Nadia being the youngest. We met at a party I was attending, and she was curious about Vesuvia. I told her, ‘You could see it for yourself if you agreed to marrying me.’ We were both drunk on wine and signed the marital contract within barely a day of meeting. It was very rushed.”

“Asra told me that I’ve never been married.”

Lucio wasn’t surprised. Marriage was, after all, a thing most nobility did. It became more of a formality for the lower classes to go through all the ceremony, the planning, and the contracts. Besides, when your daughter barely traded for a few heads of cattle, what was the point?

“Like I said, we didn’t do it out of love. The Satrinavas were pointed out to me as a family of note, so I noted. Both of us had our lovers outside of the marriage.” He pushed his upper lip out in a pout. “I invited Nadia to partake of all my affairs, but she never shared.”

“Did you not love any of them?”

Again with the love word. Lucio was tempted to ask him why he was so infatuated with the term when he saw something that made him curse aloud. “I don’t—what the—We’re here again?!”

The same overgrown graveyard loomed in front of them. It looked identical to the one they’d seen when they’d walked the left pathway. Those haunting graves with their premonitioned grave markers stared back at Lucio like the hollowed eyes of a skull. The only difference was a low growling.

Lucio followed it all the way up to where two shadowy wolves stalked along the perimeter. Saliva dripped from jaws mottled in red. The insides of their mouths were painted the same color.

Spinning on his heel, he barked, “Oh, to hell with this!”

When he tromped off in the direction opposite the graveyard, Moren’s sandals slapped behind him. The howling of the wolves felt like it was following them despite the distance his steps put in. Lucio cursed the entire length.

“So, there’s a graveyard to our left, and a graveyard  _ with wolves _ if we go right. Then, what the hell are we supposed to do? There has to be a way to get out of here.” Lucio threw himself against a labyrinth wall with a huff.

Eyes on the ground, he grumbled, “I’m out of ideas, and you look like…” His words drifted when he saw Moren across from him.

The magician’s warm skin had turned ashen under his eyes. Moren was slouched against the wall, and though he didn’t seem like he wanted to stop their travels, he looked like he needed to. Swallowing, Lucio admitted, “Well, you look exhausted. Let’s stop and rest for a bit.”

When Moren opened his mouth to argue, Lucio held up a finger. “Ah-ah. You don’t get to complain. I  _ am  _ the Count, remember? And we did come here for me.”

Sitting down, Lucio patted the space beside himself. The claws of his gauntlet made little ringing noises with each strike. Though Moren had his hands in his pockets as a sign of defiance, he did slip in beside the Count.

Their backs rested against a wall covered in a patch of dying vines. Lucio shifted around to get more comfortable, and foliage, drawn up into husks from the cold, crunched behind him. The second Moren took his seat, his eyelids drooped.

“You okay?” Lucio wondered.

The magician gave him a weak nod. “Yeah. I’m just… just really tired.”

When he gave a slight veer off to the side, Lucio reached out and grabbed him. “Whoa, Moren. Don’t just fall over. That’s no good. Come here.”

Steadying the magician, Lucio propped Moren against the wall. He eased in close to offer up some of his body heat. The chilly air hadn’t given up at all. Harem pants with open cut outs and a single sleeved belly top weren’t fitting for this weather. No wonder the magician was about to collapse.

Besides, Lucio noticed with a guilty thought, the man had been doing so much to protect him. He’d fought off worms. He’d broken the hold of the Devil. More than that, he’d gotten them into this realm in the first place.

Lucio wasn’t so blind to know that the expenditure of magic didn’t leave one weary. He’d seen it before. Asra had shown signs of magical exhaustion before at the Palace when searching for a cure. Then, there was another person who he’d seen tired from a day of using up too much of their magic. Though that weakness had been rare for her.

When Moren’s eyelashes dusted a snowflake off his cheekbones, Lucio put his arm around the magician. “There, that’s better. I guess, I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

Pinkish-purple irises peered up from the shadow of jet black lashes. Moren asked, “Aren’t you tired?”

“No, and even if I was, I’m too jittery to sleep.”

Besides, they’d seen plenty of awful things to keep them awake. There were open graves, wolves dripping saliva, and more potential horrors they’d yet to see. At least, one of them had to make sure nothing crept up on them. Or, that was the justification Lucio was giving himself.

A weight settled on his body, and Lucio peered to where Moren was burrowing inside of him. The man was so cold. The Count hissed, “Augh! Your nose is freezing!”

On reflex, Moren jerked backwards. “Sorry,” he weakly apologized.

Lucio wasn’t having any of that. Pulling Moren back in, he adjusted his cape to try and draw it over his scantily dressed magician. “Where do you think you’re going? Stay. Let’s try this.”

When the fur trim barely made it to the other man’s shoulder, Lucio huffed, “Hmph. I need a bigger cape.” He turned his chin upwards until he was looking at the tops of the labyrinth walls. “Hey, Magic Maze, can you make my cape bigger?”

To his disappointment, nothing happened. The maze’s only answer was a whistling wind and more snow. Lucio sighed, “I guess I could put some extra layers on you, but then I’d be freezing.”

“Lucio, hold out your hand.” Moren opened up his palm. The fingers curled gently at the ends, and his sharp nails beckoned.

Confused, Lucio put his dominant hand in the magician’s palm. His gauntlet had to feel cool against Moren’s skin, but if he wanted to hold hands, Lucio wouldn’t stop him. He liked excuses to get closer to the magician.

When a low vibration tingled through his metal arm, he parted his lips at it. Was Moren working more of his magic? Why?

“Whoa!” Lucio exhaled. Radiating from the prosthetic, warmth blossomed. It created a cocoon of heat around them, as good as any blanket before a wood burning hearth. Lucio’s eyes slid closed. He sighed, “Oh, that feels just like sinking into a hot bath after a long day. As always, you’re amazing.”

His eyes opened back up on a thought. To the magician, he asked, “But won’t it go away once you’re asleep?”

His answer was a groggy shake of the head. Moren’s fingers flexed in his grip, and Lucio curled his metal fingers in to keep the magician from slipping away. On a yawn, Moren hypothesized, “Probably not, as long as we’re touching. It’s a magician’s trick, sharing power with contact.”

Lucio waggled his brows suggestively. “Contact? Oh, Moren, why didn’t you say that before? You know, I love to snuggle.”

Too easy, he wriggled around Moren. In a few seconds, his long legs were stretched out on either side of the magician. Lucio leaned the man back into his chest. He rested his chin on Moren’s shoulder.

“Perfect,” he whispered against Moren’s ear.

And it was. This close to Moren, Lucio could breath in his clean scent. He could touch every part of his body, feel the magician slowly warming against him. After laying a gentle kiss to Moren’s temple, the Count leaned back and sighed. Nothing had ever felt better.

“Now, you can sleep,” he responded.

It didn’t take long for Moren to doze off, and when he did, Lucio could feel it in the new slouch to the magician’s tense shoulders. Truly, it was a wonder. For too long, Moren had held himself rigid.

In sleep, he became as pliable as silk. Unable to resist temptation, Lucio ran his free hand up Moren’s arm. The entire length of the magician’s right arm was coated in symbols, shapes, and what may have been a foreign language. The left shoulder was the same, flowing down in markings before they cut off mid bicep.

Running his index finger in little circles over what appeared to be a nail piercing through two circular bands, Lucio pondered the meaning of Moren’s tattoos. Such things weren’t terribly uncommon. Several northern, warm climate regions painted themselves to appear more threatening. For others, it was a coming of age.

He wanted to know which Moren may have been. Then, he frowned. There was a possibility that Lucio may never know. The magician had lost his memories, his life.

Lucio was both repulsed and interested at the prospect of losing his past. He could wake up one day with no sins to bury deep inside of himself. He could start his life anew with the chance for new relationships, or he could lose everything he’d worked for in his life. No palace, no Vesuvia…

Moren muttered something in sleep, and Lucio had to tag one last thing to his list: no Moren. He shook his head hard to dispel the thought. No, things were better this way. This way, he could keep moving forward. People would get over the past. They just did that, especially for him.

“Lucio?” the magician whispered, and the Count peered down at the man. He was still asleep.

Smiling, Lucio buried his face in hair that was a mix of tight and loose curls. He wrapped one arm fully around Moren’s front, and the voice that had been calling for him settled.

Sins or no sins, past or no past, the two of them had the present. For the Count, that span of time was all he lived for. He’d get a body. Then, he’d treat the magician to a world of pleasures so wondrous that no Asra Alzanar could wedge between them.


	9. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some pretty easy-going chapters for this bit. I didn't have too much issue with the way the route was written, so the majority of things are the same. On the bright side, I did have time to add some more chapters. I refuse to let y'all catch up to my writing! It ain't gonna happen.

**Connection**

The sensation of warm weight around Moren’s body had him slowly opening his eyes. Blinking, he scanned his perimeter. Stray snowflakes were melting in the orb of heat they’d made with their shared contact, but it was definitely colder. Had Lucio not been wrapped so thoroughly around him, he would have woke up shivering.

For a short moment, Moren simply enjoyed the comfort of being held. At some point, Lucio had laid his forehead against the magician’s dark curls. One arm draped tightly over his chest, fingers secure on Moren’s shoulder. Lucio’s armored hand had woven fingers between his.

The metal possessed a steely chill that the magician had long since familiarized with Lucio’s presence. The sharp tips of the gauntlet made Moren feel safe, like Lucio would shred through any threat that may befall them.

And that was all it took for Moren to completely wake up. They weren’t cuddled up in some snowy alcove during a rough Vesuvian winter. No, they were in the magical realms, and anything could be around them right now.

Reaching upwards, he worked to rub sleep out of his eyes, but Lucio caught him first. Warm lips landed on Moren’s cheek. Bewildered, the man looked towards the Count.

Lucio wasn’t remorseful at all. With a soft smile that made Moren’s toes curl, he mentioned, “I couldn’t help it. You looked so cute while you slept.”

“Cute?” Moren was sure he looked like a mess. Hair that had been molded into loose waves with heat and product long before he’d gone hunting for the goast in Lucio’s wing had grown curlier by the minute. Surely, it was poofing out in all kinds of angles.

“Yeah, you were all peaceful and still. No frowning, no worrying about what we’ll do next.” He looked away, embarrassment diverting his gaze. “And, I don’t know… It was nice seeing you like that.”

After a reassuring squeeze, Lucio slipped off to give the other man some room. The moment they lost contact with each other, the spell that had warmed them broke. The cold air of the labyrinth struck them. Luckily, it didn’t seem to be as powerful this time. Moren could deal with it, skimpy attire aside.

To the Count, he asked, “How long was I asleep?”

Lucio shrugged. “No damn clue. I haven’t seen the sun at all. I have no idea how long we’ve been here.”

“Did you get any rest?”

Lucio paused, considering the question like one might a strange tasting red wine. “I didn’t sleep, but I don’t feel tired either. I felt like I slept, even though I didn’t.” He blew out hot air from his lips. “Psht. Magic places. So bizarre. Don’t worry about me. I’m still all warm and fuzzy from your spell.”

After stretching like a lazy cat, he offered two hands to the sitting magician. Moren gladly took them and hopped into place in front of him. The Count encouraged, “Come on, Moren. Let’s take another crack at this weird magic maze.”

“The only way we have left is forward, eh?”

Shaking snow out of his hair, Moren stood up to take in their surroundings. Graveyard to the left. Graveyard to the right. The labyrinth could go on for days, and they would still enter the exact same areas. This realm didn’t play by the rules of reality. It played with your regrets, desires, and fears.

Yet, Moren didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked side by side with Lucio through the minutes. Soon, those minutes felt as if they turned to hours. The hours turned to days.

No passing of starlight or sunshine marked each change in time. All that Moren knew was that their feet were being carried onwards and onwards. By the time they approached the graveyard for a third time, the apprentice wasn’t even surprised.

The Count was a different tale. He bared his teeth at the decaying foliage and moist dirt. Snarling, he spoke, “No! I can’t believe this! There has to be some way out of here that isn’t a creepy graveyard!”

Moren gave Lucio a curious look. Head cocked to the side and one brow raised, he asked, “Does there?”

“W-what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

The apprentice threw his fingers out to the graveyard. His sharp nails glinted against stray shafts of light that came from no place in particular. “We’re still in the magical realms. The labyrinth doesn’t have to follow normal rules.”

Fingers ran grooves through Lucio’s silky hair. His boots crunched branches in his pacing. “I know. I know. I just… don’t like graveyards.”

“Why?”

Lucio curled his upper lip at Moren. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it? Graveyards are all dark and gloomy, full of people rotting in the earth… I mean, who wouldn’t find them creepy?”

Perhaps, Moren was morbid, but he didn’t. For some reason, he felt drawn to places where the dead rested. Too often, he could be found wandering the streets of Vesuvia, strolling aimlessly until he came upon one of the many gravesites dedicated to those people who had died of the Red Plague.

There was a peacefulness in those areas. There was also a wickedness. On some days, the graves were a gentle bedding of bodies once entwined by a slow death. On other days, the souls wailed. They sought revenge against deaths that had come too soon.

Under that way of thinking, Moren observed Count Lucio. His facade had come back into place. The fissures the apprentice had been putting within the Count’s false face looked to be re-mortared by swagger.

But not all the cracks were sealed. Lucio’s milk white skin was even paler. His voice was tremulous with hints of fear.

“Lucio,” Moren sighed.

Lips parting to speak, Moren’s words disappeared before being fully formed. He could hear something in the distance. The harsh chill of the realm seemed lighter. Only one of those two situations had ever brought good tidings to them.

A bark pulled itself through the graveyard. Immediately, Lucio’s head jerked upwards. He asked, “Was that a dog?” A second bark answered his question.

Like a hound on a trail, Lucio swung his head from one side to the other. He honed in on the sound with a hunter’s precision. Mouth breaking into a grin, he laughed, “I have never been so happy to hear a dog! What if it’s Mercedes and Melchior?”

On that note, he darted off. Cursing his impulsiveness, Moren slid against slick leaves and took off right behind the Count. Luckily for the magician, Lucio wasn’t hard to find. His loud voice was calling out for his dogs. His feet trampled the earth like a rambunctious foal.

When Moren caught up to see Lucio’s black cape flowing in the wind, the Count wasn’t far away. He hastily pointed towards a fluffy tail just as it moved out of view. “Over there!” he cried.

Tearing out after him, they wove around more turns than Moren wanted to count. Stone walls passed the apprentice in a blurs of cracks, dimples, and multi-colored striations. When the turns ended, they stood on one end of a long corridor.

At the far end… was one of the oddest creatures Moren had ever seen. With a furry muzzle not unlike that of a schnauzer, a white humanoid hound peered their way. Its eyes were as white as the snow that gathered in the grooves between the labyrinth walls and floor.

Lucio held no fear in the creature’s presence. He immediately started cooing at them. “There you are! Come here, doggy. Come to Lucio.”

Huffing as if insulted, the dog took a left turn. The shifting of its heavy coat and fabrics was the only reminder that they had stood there at all. Wasting no time, Lucio pulled Moren along by the hand. They made it all the way to the end of the corridor, but the creature was long gone.

A single set of pawprints was the final reminder of their presence. Studying them, Lucio commented, “That dog’s the first thing in this whole labyrinth that didn’t try to kill us. Let’s follow the pawprints. Maybe, they’ll even lead us out?”

With a nod, Moren took up a position behind Lucio. After a few moments, the walls began to part. The apprentice’s jaw loosened at the sight of lush grasses, a valley.

Stars danced in the sky, ebbing and flowing above them in pulsations of light. The valley was overflowing with stalks of golden wheat. They swayed gently up ahead.

Looking triumphant, Lucio put a hand on his hip. His grin was utterly self-indulgent when he stated, “See? I knew it. I have a knack for finding great dogs.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he looked to the rich soil under his boots. “But… where did they go? The pawprints just end here.”

“Spooky, magical teleportation?” Moren suggested.

The Count exhaled a hint of a laugh. “Well, I owe that dog some ear scritches the next time we meet. Oh! And look over there. There’s some kind of light on the horizon.”

Squinting through the dark, Moren followed the direction Lucio was pointing. True to his word, there was a bright light illuminating the fields in the distance. The light was warm, bright. It twinkled at them in welcome.

“It’s a… lighthouse?” the apprentice mused.

“You think anybody lives there? Maybe, they can help us.”

Tired from their extensive journey, Moren nodded. He picked his foot up. He took a step. Then, he froze.

“About time. I wondered if you would stumble about for the rest of eternity,” spoke the Devil.

From between tall stalks of wheat, black horns emerged. Beneath them was the white furred, red eyed beast Moren and Lucio had thought themselves free from. The Devil never took his eyes off the Count.

Lucio looked completely crestfallen. His knees went weak underneath him, and his shoulders sagged. To the ground, he muttered, “But we… we won. We escaped. How did you…”

The Devil sighed at him. “You never learn, Lucio. I could not follow you into the Star’s labyrinth, so I simply waited for you to emerge. Unlike some, I have all the time in the world.”

Snapping his claw tipped fingers, he loosed chains from his palm. They sprung straight for Lucio, bypassing Moren entirely. Each one that snatched the Count curled tighter than the last.

The man’s screams were choked, and Moren raised magic into his body. Runes glowed. The scent of Lucio’s clothes, burning from the intense heat of the Devil’s chains, covered the air they breathed.

On gasps of breath, Lucio wheezed, “Moren! Help me! Please!”

Drawing deeply of the magic Moren had in reserve, he channeled so much power that his runes blended together. Electricity crackled around him, and he threw all of it at the Devil.

The wheat stalks burned. Dirt flew upwards in chunks of rock, but when the smoke cleared, Moren’s throat felt barren. The Devil was gone, vanished with the smoke, and Lucio was nowhere to be found.

Residual energy snapped and popped around him. “Lucio!” Moren screamed into the night. He ran from one area to the other, trying to track whatever the Devil had done to steal the Count away. “Lucio!”

Dropping to his knees, Moren sunk his hands into the earth where Lucio had stood. “Damn it, Lucio! Where the fuck did he take you?” He laid his hands flat, sensing with everything he could.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hear a voice. It was distant, full of worry. “Morand,” it called out.

“Fuck off!” the apprentice screamed back. His fingers gripped the sides of his head, pulling at his hair. Not only was he lost, but Lucio was gone. The Count wouldn’t stand any chance against the Devil on his own.

He had been so terrified when he’d been taken. That fear reached out to Moren. It clenched his soul with sharp claws.

Still, that voice persisted. “Morand, wake up! Please, wake up!”

That was the last thing Moren heard before the world went dark.

* * *

Rippling water. Grasping hands. Chirping birds. The new sensations slithered around Moren as he blinked into dappled sunlight. Strong, warm fingers lifted him out of the water, and when his head tilted forward, he narrowed his eyes at his flesh.

Wet cleavage reflected back up at him. His body was in its female form. That could only mean one thing. Concerned, purple eyes met Moren’s gaze when the realization hit him. He’d been brought back.

Resting on one knee in front of her, Asra looked up at Morand through soggy strands of white hair. “Morand? Oh, thank goodness you’re back. What happened?”

Over the magician’s shoulder stood the Countess. Her brows were furrowed in worry. “Perhaps, we should give her a bit of space?”

Immediately, Asra backed up. His face held a warmth to it from blush, and he murmured, “Right. Of course, Countess. Take your time, Morand.”

Bewildered, Morand wrapped hands around her wet arms and shivered. Like a woman possessed, she stood up. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the Devil. The last thing she’d seen of Lucio had been him screaming, clawing to get free of the Devil’s bindings.

“Lucio,” Morand growled, hating the Devil. Hating the fact that she had done nothing to save the Count.

Asra spoke up. “Lucio? What about him? Actually, where is—”

Morand silenced the magician by clamping two hands on his biceps. Pulling her master forward, she barked, “Asra, Lucio’s gone! The Devil took him!”

To her exasperation, the garden fell silent. Morand wanted to scream that they needed to do something, but suddenly the Countess and magician began talking at the same time. Over the top of each other, they spoke.

“What did you say? Where did you—”

“The Devil? From your tarot deck. Is that even possible?”

Asra was the first to silence himself. Throwing a curl out of his eyes, he explained, “It is, and encountering a Major Arcana without preparation is very dangerous.”

His statement was punctuated by a piercing shriek. All eyes shot upwards to see a huge, winged shadow cross over the moon. Immediately after, a massive eagle landed atop the edge of the fountain.

Nadia asked, “Who… let this creature into the garden?”

Ignoring the Countess, the bird locked eyes with the apprentice. Morand stared back into twin irises of brilliant gold. “Jæger?” she wondered.

Morand… knew that animal? Surely, it was the same eagle that had been following them throughout the magical realms. It had watched her and Lucio as they’d been swarmed by red beetles. But, how?

In answer, Jæger raised his long wings. Shrieking at her, the eagle shook its feathers. Then, it set back to preen black, white, and brown plumes.

“Jæger?” Asra asked. He stepped closer to Morand, wary of the new intruder. “Morand, how do you know?”

She didn’t get a chance to reply because a new set of interruptions was occurring. The chamberlain was rushing into the garden. The feathers on their hat danced overhead as the large piece of clothing tilted askew.

“Oh, Countess, it’s a disaster! Oh, no. Oh, dear.” The chamberlain fretted with their hands. Just behind them was an armed stranger. 

She wasted no time bursting into the scene. “You are the Countess? Nadia Satrinava?”

The Countess looked at the chamberlain. They were still apologizing, fidgeting like something had crawled up their pant leg. “Countess, I know you said you weren’t to be disturbed, but she marched past the guards and—”

Nadia raised up a slim, brown hand. “You have done nothing wrong, chamberlain. Please, leave us.”

Babbling so many thanks that Morand was two seconds from punting their ass kissing self out of the garden, the chamberlain backed away. Did no one understand the severity of what was going on right now? Did no one even care that Lucio was trapped by the Devil’s own doing?

Fuschia eyes narrowing on the intruder, Morand listened with more patience than she thought possible.

Nadia was the first to speak. “As you have already guessed, I am Countess Nadia Satrinava. Asra and Morand are magicians, guests of the Palace, and you are…”

The spear wielding woman with her long white hair only scowled. Hot air blew from her nostrils in annoyance. When her eyes opened up, they were cold, undaunted by Nadia’s title.

With a voice that begged to be challenged, the woman introduced, “I am Morga. I seek the one you call Lucio.”

Asra reared backwards. He asked, “What? Why?”

Simply, this Morga stated, “He is my son.”

As if that finally brought Lucio’s situation back to mind, the Countess and magician looked at Morand. She was standing with her arms crossed in front of the fountain. One hip was cocked out, and a foot tapped impatiently.

Behind her, feathers unruffled. Looking at the eagle from the corner of her eye, Morand warily watched him land atop Morga’s shoulder.  _ Well, how do you do? _ The apprentice thought. If that woman really was Lucio’s mother, it sure would explain why the Count knew the bird. Wouldn’t it?

Grass crunched underneath leather boots, and Morga’s stern voice spoke. “Morand, I have tracked my son for weeks now. Tell me why his trail ends with you?”

On guard, Morand crossed her arms beneath her chest. Residual magic crackled inside of her veins, but it was utterly useless. At this level, she’d barely be able to open the wards on her front door. Nonetheless, Morand coolly replied, “Lucio never mentioned you.”

Slowly, eyes closed. It drew attention to two long streaks of warpaint like the black tear trails on a cheetah’s face. Long locks of hair that had long since made the transition from pale blonde to ice white shook in disagreement.

“He may very much wish to forget, but I cannot.” She opened eyes the same shade of grey as Lucio’s. Gazing directly to the apprentice, Morga explained, “Whatever tales he told you. I am his mother.”

The sharp clearing of a throat halted any questions that might have been ready to play out between those involved. From across the small circle they had made in the garden, Nadia moved between Morand and Morga.

She suggested, “If we are to discuss Lucio, let us go somewhere more discreet. It would not do to be overheard.” She gave a pointed look to those servants working between rows of blooming roses and hanging ferns.

They may have looked to be working with meticulous dedication on the exterior, but servants often knew more than the nobles themselves. This was the kind of gossip that didn’t need to fuel the rumor mill.

Sharp gaze following the attention of the Countess, Morga inclined her head. Begrudgingly, she replied, “If you insist.”

The walk to Nadia’s private balcony was an interesting one. Servants passed by the spear wielding woman with obvious curiosity. One almost ran headfirst into a statue of the late count before being corrected by the head servant.

Portia grabbed the nosy onlooker by the ear. The last Morand saw of them was Portia’s fiery orange hair wisping behind an embroidered curtain.

Once all of those involved were stationed behind a glass paned door, Countess Nadia drew the interior curtains and locked the door to the balcony. A bottle of white wine had already been sat on top of a plush ottoman. Ever the gracious host, Nadia poured a glass for her guests.

In irritated sync, both Morand and Morga sat theirs off to the side. Morga spoke first. “We don’t have time for niceties. Tell me what you know of my son.”

The warrior was getting more agitated by the minute. Her words were spoken through gritted teeth. A hand tightened on the haft of her spear.

“Lucio and I—” A splitting pain surged through Morand’s body. It reached around her throat to cut off her breath. The apprentice gasped, “Fuck!”

Threading downwards from her throat, the pain lanced until it reached her chest. There, it concentrated around her heart. Pressure squeezed, let her take a short breath, and clawed down even tighter.

Immediately, Asra was at her side. A hand on her back and one on her bicep, the magician yelped her name. Morand shook her head. Hair flung out in all directions from the motion, and she reached backwards.

Finding purchase in a column, she slid down it until the pressure let up. Finally, she could catch her breath. She inhaled. She exhaled. When she looked from the ground up, she saw three different colors of irises gaping at her.

“Goodness, you look quite terrible. Shall I send for a doctor?” Nadia asked, her voice the epitome of concern.

Asra ran soothing circles against Morand’s back. There was a place there, just behind her ribs, that he focused on. His touch sent tingles of magic into there. “I don’t think that’s the problem. Morand, something is wrong with your magic.”

_ No shit, Alzanar, _ Morand thought. Glowering at him, she took the hand he had offered her. Soon, he brought her aura into view. What would normally have been a rainbow swirl focused on waves of fuschia and grey burned bright before bleeding along a thread of silver.

“It’s your connection to Lucio,” Asra observed. “With him elsewhere and you here… The connection is draining your magic.”

“Connection? So that is why the trail led to you.” Morga spoke.

Slowly, Asra nodded. “You’d better start from the beginning, Morand. Tell us what happened.”

Not missing a beat, Morand ignored the expectant stares directed her way. Quickly, she relayed the details from her first meeting the Count’s ghost in his wing and how she bound his spirit to hers. Then, she turned to more recent events such as the misadventures within the magical realms.

Morand couldn’t help but shiver in memory of the worms and the beetles, but her reactions grew more somber when she spoke of the Devil. That being had followed them for so long. What surprised her the most was how Morga took all the details without any shock on her hard angled face.

Shouldn’t a mother be more concerned about the fate of a child being hunted by the Devil? What had Lucio done to her? Why was she looking for him in the first place?

At long last, Morand finished, “The Devil had been waiting for us. He was stalking right outside of the Star’s labyrinth. When we got free of it, he chained Lucio and took him away.” She paused to bare her canines at the wine glass Nadia had given her. “There was nothing I could do.”

An elegant voice spoke, and Morand frowned towards Nadia. “Forgive me, Morand, but your tale is almost beyond belief. It has been less that an hour since you, Asra, and Lucio first departed.”

Now, it was time for Morand to be surprised. She knew that time flowed differently amongst realms, but less than an hour? She’d been away from Lucio for short minutes. How much time was that in the magical realms?

Asra voiced the knowledge in the apprentice’s head. “Time flows strangely between realms, Countess. Still, so much happened after we were separated.”

While Nadia and Asra mused over new information, Morga stood up without a word. Her face held no emotion but determination. Lips were held in a firm, flatlined state.

To them all, she proclaimed, “You know what must be done. No matter where he is, my son cannot hide from me. I will find him, and free him if he is being held against his will.” She snarled her lip towards the white painted panes of the balcony door. “He and I still have unfinished business.”

And there went any doubt that Lucio hadn’t done anything to his mother. Though the Count had proven himself to be a protector of Morand throughout their time in the realms, other people made it no mystery that he wasn’t often that way. Perhaps, time as a ghost had made him remorseful of his narcissistic inspired past?

Any internal contemplation halted when those piercing grey eyes locked onto Morand. For a moment, she thought the warrior held a look of hurt/worry/remorse? But, it didn’t last more than a second.

Without dallying, Morand pushed herself up on the column. She rested her hand over where Lucio’s silver thread had been placed over her heart. Staring back at the warrior with a matching, stoney resolve, the apprentice said, “I’ll come with you.”

Again, Morand had given her word to someone. She had told Lucio she would protect him from the Devil. She may have failed, but that didn’t mean the war was over. Then, there was this new, potential threat. Morand wanted to be close by for whatever business Morga had with the Count.

Dark brows the color of burnt honey raised the least bit. Morga looked at Morand with a hint of respect, like the apprentice had passed some unstated test. “You are wiser than he was. Let us be on our way. There isn’t a moment to lose.”

When Morga stepped, Morand was right on her heels. Only Asra’s voice kept them from demanding the balcony key from Nadia. Asra hollered, “Wait. Wait. No one’s going back to the magical realms without me. This time, I’m going to make sure we all stay together.”

Morga’s smile of self-confidence was so like Lucio that Morand had to blink the comparison away. The warrior replied, “Ha! I’m no fool, boy. I know what lies on the other side.”

Asra’s mouth opened to form a surprised O. “You do? I thought—”

_ That since Lucio was magical dead weight that his mother would be as well,  _ Morand finished the thought inside her mind. She couldn’t blame her master. To think that a dense man like Lucio would have come from a talented magician would be rather farfetched.

Humor draining from her face, Morga brought the conversation to the task at hand. “And we will need Jæger. He can help track our quarry.”

As if in challenge, the eagle glared towards Morand’s master. His gold eyes looked like they would love for Asra to doubt him. Perhaps, Lucio did take after this woman. She oozed confidence, pride. The only difference was that Morga seemed like the type to actually pull off her boasts.

Though he looked worried, Asra exhaled. His slumped shoulders were the ultimate statement of defeat. Morga and the eagle would be going with them.

Truly, Morand could barely spare them much concern. Her focus was on the promise she’d made. The promise she would keep, and the man trapped in another realm. She didn’t want to think about what could happen to Lucio if he stayed away from her. Perhaps, their connection would give him some relief from whatever the Devil might do to him? She hoped so.

As she impatiently waited, she eavesdropped.

Asra addressed the Countess. “Countess, I hate to trouble you again so soon, but…”

“It is hardly troublesome. I will look after things here at the palace.”

“I’ll leave my familiar with you. She can keep you company.”

Morand couldn’t stop a gentle smile from forming when Faust slithered from Asra’s sleeve. The snake made herself at home beside the Countess. Nadia smiled fondly at the serpent. “Oh, what a delightful creature.”

“We’re wasting time. If you have no other preparations, we should depart,” Morga snapped, and Morand couldn’t agree with her more. The longer Asra dallied with the Countess, the more time Lucio was trapped. The man had barely handled being a ghost in his own palace. Surely, he was losing his mind by now.


	10. Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's any consolation, the next few chapters are more exciting. Hopefully, y'all will enjoy those better. As for myself, I cut my hand while removing Fourth of July decorations off the golfcart over the weekend. Every time I type, it keeps hitting that sore spot. My "taka, taka, taka" typing has become an "ow, ow, ow..." Pain is weakness leaving the body! POWER THROUGH!!!

**Right**

By the time they’d made it back to the palace’s garden fountain, Morand was practically thrumming with the need to get back to her idiot. Each tap of her foot on the manicured lawn had Asra sneaking sidelong glances at her. By the fifth one, Morand hissed, “What?”

Sheepishly, Asra let a curl fall into his face. “Are you… feeling alright?”

Alright? Well, let’s count the ways. One, she was attached to a man who made deals with demons he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Two, the Devil had a real hard on for Lucio’s captivity. Three, she was weaker than she could ever remember being. So, no. Alright was not the best way to describe her.

Yet, she didn’t chastise her master. Instead, she fidgeted with the smooth tops of her painted nails. In all honesty, she replied, “I’m not sure. I’m a bit faint. I guess.”

The words relieved the magician. His lips made a gentle smile that had always soothed Morand. “Let me know if anything changes, all right?”

Nodding, Morand let Asra usher her, Morga, and Jæger into the fountain. Just as before, hands interlocked. The comfortable warmth of Asra was extremely different from the strong grip of Morga.

Years of calluses covered her palms. The ones beneath the initial bend of her fingers were obvious. They were the result of years of training and warfare, but there were others that Morand noticed, some that Morand, too, bore. They were calluses from washing laundry, working in a garden.

From outside their circle, Nadia wished them good luck. Asra inclined his head to her. “We’ll need it,” he admitted.

Then, everything went back to shadow. Just as it had the first time, the floor of the fountain fell out from underneath them. They slid from warm sunlight into vast darkness.

Yet, there was no howling wind trying to rip everyone apart. There was no tugging coming from one person or another. Morand frowned.

That must have come from Lucio. Some connection that he had to the various realms must have been stronger than anything Asra or Morand could create. Just how many deals had the Count made? Could Morand even begin to fix such a drastic mistake?

Gently, their bodies drifted, and Morand watched a realm come into focus. It was colorful, like an oasis within an expansive desert. Palm trees swayed over a multitude of glittering pools.

“Here we are,” Asra announced. “This is where I tried to take you last time. It’s my gateway into the magical realms. My own little refuge.”

At her master’s words, Morand wondered if she’d ever created a gateway of her own. Surely, her magician’s gate would be a sunny field. Maybe, filled with all kinds of fruits and vegetation?

Looking around her, she couldn’t help but admire Asra’s handiwork. It looked so like him. Hues of purple, orange, red, and blue danced around. A few feet away, a fish leaped from a pool. Its scales reflected a rainbow of color.

The absolute best part, though? Morand could breathe here. Just being in this realm refreshed her magic. It allowed the apprentice to draw in a breath of wind that smelled of saltwater and coconut.

As for the warrior beside her… Morga scowled. “Asra, was it? This place is yours?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph.” She exhaled sharply through her nose. “How do you hunt in here?”

“Hunt? Uh, that’s not how I do things.” He self-consciously rubbed the back of his head. “See the pools? They lead anywhere in the magical realms. Well, almost anywhere. We can search for Lucio through his connection to Morand.”

He moved his focus to his apprentice. “Morand, may I?”

“Work your magic, boss,” she replied, slowly feeling as if she were coming back into herself. Soothingly, Asra’s magic began to wrap around her. It was a warm breeze against her skin like the first hints of summer.

“Hmm,” he breathed with his eyes closed. “The connection is still quite strong. A good sign.” Opening his eyes back, he gazed towards the horizon. “It’s that way.”

Without further ado, Asra took up the lead. He didn’t wander around or question his surroundings like Morand and Lucio had. Instead, he walked with purpose. Each footstep had a guidance behind it.

The rest of the group followed in tense silence. With her fingers doing their nervous stroking, Morand tried to ignore the hard stare of Morga’s familiar. The bird watched her like she was prey, awaiting every step.

Once they’d gotten a few miles away, Morga finally sighed, “Montag… you foolish boy.”

Ever the curious imp, Morand couldn’t stop the question on her tongue. “Montag?”

Morga looked at her like someone would study an annoying insect. “Montag Morgasson, a name that my son would very much like to abandon. He never changes. Always dragging others into his disaster. Always unable to save himself.”

Despite her harsh words, Morga’s voice was soft. She looked more regretful over the situation rather than angry. It was the face of a tired mother, ever chasing after an unruly toddler.

Yet, Morand didn’t believe her words. Lucio hadn’t been unable to save himself. He had saved Morand from the wyrm. He had saved her from the Devil when her magic had begun to run low.

Morga continued, “He’s been this way since he was young. Fleeing from prey, losing his fights.” She bared her teeth. “Hiding from a damned musk bear.”

Head shaking, she peered beyond the world around her. More to herself than anyone else, she added, “Nevermind. It’s a tale from long ago. You wouldn’t care about any of that.”

After checking to see how far Asra had gotten away from him, Morand peered up at the taller woman. She took a few careful steps, making certain not to touch any of the pools at her feet. Once standing beside Morga, she admitted, “Actually, I would.”

A single eyebrow arched. For a long moment, no one spoke. Morga stared at Morand. Morand stared at Morga. Just when Morand was sure the warrior wouldn’t latch onto the conversation starter, she broke the quiet.

“Hmph. You wish to hear of how I failed Montag and myself?”

Well, that was certainly not how Morand would have worded it, but if that was what Morga could offer her… 

“Very well,” Morga sighed. “Do you know much of the South, Morand?”

As someone who knew little beyond the walls of Vesuvia, Morand couldn’t rightly say that she knew much of anything. Shrugging, she said, “It’s cold?”

The words had Morga’s face stretch into a grin of sarcastic humor. “Ha. Yes, the South is cold.” Then, her face resumed its stern stance. “More than that, it is unforgiving. Only the strong survive in such a place, and Montag… he was never strong enough.”

Given how determined Lucio was in keeping Morand alive, she almost doubted the other woman. Again, though, she didn’t speak. She bit her tongue and watched.

Unconsciously, Morga tightened her hand on her spear. The knuckles turned pale. “When he was born, a fever almost took him. When he was six, he nearly drowned in a stream. Each time he had a brush with death, I swore to let him face the next on his own, so he could grow stronger. And each time, I saved him instead.”

Morand’s upper lip raised in perplexity. Wasn’t taking care of your child part of being a parent? Had Morand come upon her child drowning, she would have dropped everything she had to scoop him from the water’s clutches and bring him back to life.

Unable to remain silent any longer, she asked, “Saved him? Isn’t that a good thing?”

Instantly, Morga’s face hardened. Bitterness stained her words. “No. Though, perhaps, I hoped so at the time. Once, when he was old enough to know better, he refused to clean his training weapons. He threw a tantrum at his father and ran off into the snowy woods, alone. I was hunting far from our village. When I returned Montag was still missing.”

And there was the spoiled brat Morand knew Lucio to be. Regardless, she continued the conversation. “Had anyone else looked for him?”

She scoffed, “Not for long. He was always good at shirking his chores, if nothing else. So, I left to find him on my own.”

The more she spoke, the colder the oasis grew. At her feet, color faded from the sand. Her memories were painting the landscape, shaping it to her emotion.

“It was snowing heavily, and his tracks were gone. I listened and watched for anything that might pursue a foolish boy for a quick meal. Soon enough, I found a musk bear, growling at a cave entrance buried in the snow. I knew Montag had to be inside. I should’ve walked away then.”

Morand leaned back. Her eyes went as round as the saucers Nadia served her tea on. “Walked away?!”

“The bear was old, limping, half-starved. Montag could have fended it off easily. I should’ve given him the chance to do something for himself. Instead, I lured the bear away and slew it.”

On her sigh, the realm’s coldness strengthened. Morand could almost see the snowy woodland the warrior was describing. She could nearly feel the cold bite of a southern winter.

Story not yet complete, Morga kept on. “When Montag finally left his hiding hole and came home, he boasted of scaring away a monstrous musk bear.” Her eyelids settled over her gaze, nearly closing off her vision in a downcast expression. “And I said nothing… I did not want the villagers to know my son for the coward he was. In time, his lies grew larger and more outlandish. I didn’t believe them, but Montag did. He lied to himself more than anyone else.”

After a moment’s pause, Morga looked at Morand. She softly explained, “I knew I had failed him. I knew a day would come when no one could save him from his own delusions.” Resolve passed across her body, and the soft look dispersed. “That was then, but it has been many years. Tell me, what is my son like now?”

Biting on the inside of her lip, Morand felt the strongest urge to defend Lucio. Wyrms, worms, and Arcana had all been in their faces during their travels. Lucio had saved her all on his own. He had saved  _ them,  _ not just Morand but himself.

Confident in her reply, Morand didn’t flinch from Morga’s harsh stare. “He’s changed since then.”

Thin eyebrows threatened to vanish into the older woman’s hairline. When her sarcastic grin returned, Morand felt herself warming towards the warrior. “Hmph. Is that so?”

Shrugging, Morand elaborated, “Well, he admitted he was in trouble to me. It doesn’t sound like he wouldn't have done that before.”

“I hope you are right, Morand. For my part, I will believe he has changed when I see it.” And with those words, the silence returned to the oasis. All of the warmth and color that had been stolen by Morga’s stories rushed back.

Only the crunching of sand beneath Morand’s sandals and Morga’s boots made sound between the two women. They fell into companionable silence. Every now and then, Morand’s attention would be drawn to a prismatic reflection against the surface of the oasis’s pools or a leaping fish.

On a frown, she studied her master’s back. He was a few meters ahead of them. The golden fringe on his fuschia sash ebbed in a soothing breeze.

Morand could only wonder what Asra really thought of her situation with Lucio. She could admit that it wasn’t the most normal. Asra had been her flatmate for years, longer than she could remember. They shared meals together. They sometimes shared a bed, especially on those nights where memory threatened to scald away at her very consciousness.

She hadn’t been lying to Lucio when she’d said she loved Asra, but it wasn’t a romantic sort of feeling. Never had Asra made any romantic notions towards her, said any compliments that were more than platonic. They’d gone to bars, and he’d only laughed when Morand had pulled over a fellow reveller for a hard, sloppy kiss.

Yet, he felt distant to her now. He felt further away than he ever had before. Lost in thought, Morand had to shake herself when she saw Asra turn towards her and Morga.

The magician had one hand in the air. He waved it to get their attention. Once they were looking his way, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Morand! Morga! I’ve found something.”

Eager for anything that would rescue Lucio, Morand charged forward. She hastened until Asra stopped just in front of a shallow pool. She peered down.

Instead of reflecting the star scattered sky of amber and sangria, Morand stared into a wasteland. It was utterly barren. Craggy stones jutted from the earth in harsh angles. The color of vermillion stretched mile after mile.

Eyes scanning for any sign of life, Morand asked, “Where is that?”

Stray blades of yellow grass twisted around Asra’s tall boots. He explained, “Time and place are both a bit fuzzy in the magical realms. Think of it more like… a mindset than places on a map.”

Morand’s brows drew inward. If dry earth and desolate stone were a mindset then whoever’s realm this was seriously needed to rethink their life choices. Who in their right mind thought in such a way that their existence could be interpreted as emptiness and a dusty, red haze?

Thoughts thrown to the back of her mind, Morand watched in surprise when Morga tramped straight between the magician and apprentice into the pool. She wasn’t wasting any time to get back to her son. Was she?

Following the warrior’s lead, Morand put one foot after another into the water until plummeting. The second she reemerged in the new realm, the air coiled heavily in her throat. It laid there like layers of ash and dust, thickening every breath on dry heat.

She had to gasp to breathe. On a rushing intake, she hissed, “It’s… getting worse.” Morand laid her hands against her throat, taking short comfort in the coolness of the rings she wore on nearly every finger.

Ahead of her, Morga clicked her tongue. When she turned her head to the sky, her eyes glittered a pure gold. She stated, “Then we must make haste. Jæger,  _ jægde _ .”

Screeching, the eagle erupted from Morga’s shoulder. It soared straight to the rust-stained sky, and the warrior set off in the direction it led. The magicians weren’t far behind her.

Strangely, with each step she took, the strangling sensation drove Morand forward. The direction Morga led was accompanied by an invisible chain wrapping tighter and tighter around Morand’s throat. It slowed her pace. Steadily, Morga grew further away from her.

Asra stayed close to his apprentice’s side. His eyes grew heavy upon the desert soil. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t lost you earlier…”

Barely able to speak, Morand shook her head hard. Her voice was a scratchy growl, but she was determined to speak to the man who had done so much for her. “It’s not,” she gasped, snarling at how difficult speech was becoming. “It’s not your fault, Asra.”

The pained look in her master’s eyes didn’t recede. On the contrary, it deepened. His lips parted to show off white teeth on a frown of discomfort. Looking into the depths of his apprentice’s eyes, Asra continued, “Morand, it was my idea to bring Lucio to the magical realms.”

Memories of what she and Lucio had gone through in Asra’s absence danced in her head. The biting cold that followed Lucio somehow made her shiver despite the dry desert she stood atop. Still, she didn’t let up.

“I think trouble was going to find Lucio one way or another.” She paused to catch her breath. A rock appeared from seeming nowhere, and she stumbled on her feet. Asra was quick to catch her. With his strong arms around her, Morand added, “No matter what we did. It would have found us.”

“True enough…” Asra settled Morand on her feet, yet he never let her go. Weaving their arms together, he supported her with his shoulder. “I just wish I’d been there to help. That’s all.”

Sharp canines flaunted themselves in a weak smirk. “Please, Assra. When have I ever needed your help to get into trouble?” Her attempt at humor was rewarded. Asra smiled faintly back at her.

Morand hugged his arm tight before pulling away from him. Asra’s forearm followed, but she patted him on the shoulder. The look of confidence she gave him was better than any words. Catching her hint, the other magician released her, so she could stand on her own.

There was something coming into view on the horizon. Morga had already found it. Her eagle circled overhead, giving a cry to announce the fruits of his labor. The closer Morand got to it, the more curious the object became.

Long, spindly arms stretched overhead. They were dry, brittle, and the result of a tree long since starved of water. Its base was coiled tightly in red-hot chains.

The chains called to Morand more than anything else. Lucio had been chained. The Devil’s gate had been wrapped in them. They were getting close.

Peering closer, the apprentice saw hints of a doorway against the tree’s massive roots. The thick entities crawled up from the desert around the travellers and dug deep into arid soil. They cradled the doorway in an embrace that could have been loving were it not for the trunk’s charred state. As things stood, the golden doorway looked guarded by a looming husk of a sylvan.

Morga gestured to the chained doorway with her spear. “This is it. He’s caged in there, on the other side of the door.”

Asra pursed his lips in skepticism. “In there? Are you sure?”

Before anyone could do anything, Morand stepped between warrior, magician, and gateway. She warned, “Be careful. Those chains…” She had to pause to catch her breath. “I’ve seen the Devil use them before.”

The first to approach the door was Asra. He cautiously moved around Morand to study the chains and tree. Unlike what Lucio had done, the magician kept a safe distance from the writhing chains.

After some brows drawn thought, Asra stated, “This is another magicians’ gate. Why would Lucio be in a gate that isn’t his own?”

Morand cocked a brow. “How do you know it isn’t his?”

“Trust me. Lucio would never have a gate as elaborate as this.”

Morand would have observed the gate in more detail had Morga’s cutting tone not stopped her. The warrior ordered, “Enough talk. Move.”

After waving the magicians away, Morga’s eyes began to glow in that strange gold color once more. The whites of her eyes became encased in a hue of yellow not unlike that of the glowing eyes of a night creature. Hefting her spear in two hands, she eyed the serpentine chains.

Her focus was that of a trained hunter, someone to whom killing prey was second nature. In a single, fluid motion, she threw her spear. It struck lengths of chain, slicing through cleanly.

When the metal speartip hit the door, the gateway rang like a struck gong. Upon impact, the door opened. Morga admired her handiwork with a smirk, seemingly satisfied with the dumbstruck expressions Asra and Morand gave from the sidelines.

Her teeth were exposed in a shark’s grin. “Well?” she asked. “Are you coming?”

Respect glittered in Asra’s gaze. Any skepticism regarding the warrior seemed to have been vanquished along with the Devil’s chains. He commented, “Huh. Lucio was terrible at magic, so I assumed…”

He looked to the side like he was discomfited. “Well, I shouldn’t assume things.”

His sentence was ended by a bright of brilliant light pouring from the crack Morga had opened. As if moved by instinct, she rushed forward to lock a hard grip on the door. As she pulled, she looked from Asra to Morand.

Something about the way the two looked had her making an unspoken decision. To the white haired magician, she spoke, “Asra, help me.”

The warrior’s struggle was soon remedied. A single touch from Asra gave them both the power to pull it open further, but Morand could only frown. Again, she couldn’t help. Guilt at her predicament had her rubbing her fingers together.

Was she dead weight to them right now?

Before her eyes, the door creaked open. The wider it went, the colder the realm became. Biting wind and puffs of overlarge snowflakes blew her hair from her shoulders.

On the other side of the doorway, a blizzard howled. Snowflakes blended together until they made streaks of white on white. There was nothing to see beyond layers of frozen precipitation.

When Morand shivered, Asra put a hand between her shoulder blades. “At least, it’s not a real blizzard. We won’t freeze to death,” he informed.

“But it’ll still feel cold,” Morand grumbled. Her commentary earned her an affectionate pat on the head.

Animal hide boots left imprints in the snow beside her, and the apprentice watched Morga lean down. Her pale hands moved snow until she could find the solid ground. “How strange. Sand and snow.”

She moved her palm to reveal her truth. Pale amber sand laid beneath the collective snowflakes. When Morand moved deeper into the gate, she could see a few sparse bits of uncovered sand being pelted by flakes.

Amidst them laid a geyser. It was frozen in a state of permanent eruption. Icy lengths of still water glittered and reflected the endless whiteness.

Morga curled her lip. “Hmph. Montag could be anywhere.” There was a woosh and a crunch. Jæger swooped low before rising from the doorway. Morga marched directly into the blizzard. Her eagle stationed himself on her shoulder as they moved.

“Wait!” Asra cried. He might as well have been trying to make water stop being wet. Roaring winds ate up his words, and he turned to Morand with a sigh. “How are you feeling now? Any new symptoms?”

The apprentice shrugged at her master. “I’m cold, but my magic feels a bit more normal. I can breath better.”

“That’s a relief. If you’re feeling better, why not try to sense Lucio by magic?”

Morand’s entire body lightened at the prospect. Finally! Something she could actually do. She refused to be dead weight, dragging down the others because of her mess.

She mentally began prepping her power. Smiling at her, Asra added, “I’ll do the same.”

Morand barely listened to him. Eyes closed, she focused on something far beyond howling wind and chilly snow. She searched through all the connections in her life.

She could feel Asra, her connection to him strong and secure. She could feel Morga, a distant tug that read as indifference. Then, she felt something else. It was a presence off to the right.

Third eye seeking, she zeroed in on it. Her magic toyed with the strand of the connection. It was convoluted, mixed in a myriad of magical webbings. Truly, she couldn’t be certain if it was Lucio or not, but it was a lead.

Asra broke her concentration by speaking. “There’s a lot of really strong magic to our left.”

Morand held back a hunk of her blowing hair and blinked at her master. “Odd. I sensed something in the opposite direction.” She nodded behind herself, towards more infinite white bullshit. Gods, she hated winter.

Brows drew deep to crease along the bridge of Asra’s nose. He exhaled, “I don’t relish the thought of splitting up… But I’m not thrilled about spending hours in this blizzard.”

Interestingly, Morand felt that there was something more to the expression on Asra’s face. She doubted that her master was lying about a presence to his left. He never joked about things of a magical nature, but she did suspect that he wouldn’t want to be around when Morand rescued Lucio.

It made her think two things. Either Asra’s hatred of the Count really went that deep, or he didn’t like the idea of Morand in any kind of relationship with the nefarious Lucio. Morand worried her bottom lip with a canine. Why did the latter thought make her feel so dirty?

Catching the curls that had slipped from her fingers, Morand tried to ease Asra’s concerns. “I’ll be fine if we split up. I’m not completely weak, you know?” Shyly, she peered up at him through thick eyelashes.

“All right. At least, we’ll search faster that way.” Just as Morand turned her feet in the right direction, Asra reached out to gently clasp her wrist. Smirking at her, he said, “I’ll never think of you as weak, either.”

Morand dipped her forehead at him. “And you damn well better not change that thought. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Good. I’ll let you know when I find something.”


	11. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note for right now, but I wanted to thank TheRedStreak for commenting on the story. You have no idea how much I love to read reviews. Also, if anybody has tips or advice for what you want to see in upcoming chapters, feel free to jot it down in the comments! Toodaloo.

**Lies**

Bitter cold and desolation were weights that Lucio had never been able to bear. As a boy, he’d been the only child of the clan’s leader. His existence had been praised, a blessing to his people.

When he’d been in harm’s way, there was always someone there to save him. There was never any shortage of people who would keep him away from the clutches of death. He hadn’t wanted for food or clothing. Such things had been given to him by raids and hunts.

The Count had grown into a prideful man, a strong man. Right?

As he huddled for warmth in vast whiteness. Tears threatened to freeze to his cheekbones. Right now, he had nothing. He’d had nothing for days. For weeks? For months?

He couldn’t tell. There was no way to know. In this realm, time twisted. It ebbed and warped until the past became the future, became the present, became the past.

In one moment, he had been standing atop the grand stairway of the palace’s dance hall. The cheers that he’d expected to hear had been mocking laughter. He’d been chained into place as all the people in his life had shunned him.

The first had been Nadia. Her eyes had gone across him with an indifference that chilled him worse than this blizzard. All of the servants had passed him by, moving like he couldn’t be seen.

Then had come the  _ others…  _ He shivered harder. Those creatures had whispered in his ears.  _ “Everything you have came with a price.” “If you can’t get us their hearts, we can always take yours.” “You are nothing without us.” _

It was the last statement that hurt more than the others. He wasn’t nothing. He was the Count of Vesuvia. He was Count Lucio, a man whose whims were granted with an iron fist. Nothing could topple all he’d built.

Clutching his arms tighter, he tried to keep from being sucked into more realities. Already, he’d gone back to the day Julian Devorak had amputated his arm. He’d relived force feeding the doctor a plague beetle in an attempt to  _ incentivize  _ him to work faster. The plague had concentrated within the doctor’s body in mere days.

Gods’ names, he’d done so many things. He’d hurt so many people. The city had rotted during the Red Plague. He’d carried the disease in his body, hearing only from whispers that it was killing his former clansmen.

How many times had he pushed away the consequences of his actions, how many lies had he told himself, and how many sins were written in his ledger?

Memories became muddled in his head, and before he knew it, he felt reality slipping away. “No,” he whimpered into the snow. His knees tucked tighter against his chest. Tears flowed from the rims of his eyelids.

But it was too late. He’d felt this before. The solid grasp on all that was around him began to fade. The sensation of the blizzard warmed. The cries of the wind became diluted with the sounds of clinking vials.

Tightly, he closed his eyes. Lips quivering against the snow, he begged, “No, no. Not again. Not anymore.”

_ Someone was singing. Lucio could hear it long before he could see it. Groggily, he blinked. When he opened his eyes, he saw the underside of his canopy bed. _

_ The heavy, wooden frame boasted of swirling carvings inspired by the tapestries of the Scourge of the South, the moniker of his clan. Atop it was draped decorative, red silks. Some were tied back with golden ropes and iron hooks. A thin set were closed. _

_ Beyond them, the door to his bedroom creaked open, and the singing grew quieter. He scowled. Quiet. He hated it. Irritated, Lucio snatched back the silk separating him from whoever had disturbed his rest. _

_ What he saw made his eyes narrow. A young woman wearing the garb of his physicians was carrying a tray of vials to his dresser. She sat them down as gently as she could then stretched long arms above her head. _

_ Grey eyes followed from the gentle slope of the woman’s back and up to her wrists. Though her hands were gloved and her sleeves were long, he could see hints of markings where the sleeve had slid down. Tattoos? _

_ None of the doctors he’d seen so far had tattoos. One of them had foul breath that reeked of salted eel. A second had unruly brown hair that never looked washed. The third was Julian. _

_ “Another drone bee sent to waste my time?” he growled, letting the silk drop. _

_ Shoes tapped against his wooden floor, and soon light broke through his curtains. “Good morning, Count Lucio. My name is Morand Arache, and I’ll be taking care of you today.” _

_ Lucio reacted to the woman’s hospitable smile with a snarl. “Is Julian too busy shirking his duties to actually treat me again?” _

_ This Morand busied herself by tying the curtains of his bed with rope and hooking them on the iron nailed to his bed posts. From behind her surgical mask, she explained, “On the contrary, he’s performing an experimental cure on a patient tonight. Valdemar requested his work go undisturbed.” _

_ Valdemar. The hairs on Lucio’s skin rose upon the name. If there was ever a courtier Lucio truly feared, it was that one. But, that wasn’t anything this peon needed to know. _

_ “And what did the doctor prescribe me today? More leeches? Something else repugnant and foul?” He curled his lip at the memory of the last time Devorak had come in here with Lucio’s daily dose of medicine. The concoction had tasted of sulphur and dirt. _

_ Once Morand was finished with Lucio’s curtains, she strolled to a bedroom wall and laid two fists against a pair of fabrics. They covered the large windows of his bedroom. “Nope,” she proclaimed before throwing the curtains open wide. Blistering sunlight shone through the room, nearly blinding Lucio. “Just my winning personality and lots of sunlight!” _

_ Immediately, the Count reached for something to throw at this idiot. He grabbed for a glass that had been filled with water. His fingers barely skimmed the edge of it before it slid away from him. _

_ With that projectile out of reach, he continued to search around. He patted. He patted. He found nothing. Frustrated, he grabbed one of his pillows and slung it. _

_ When he didn’t hear it collide with her back or hear a yelp of surprise, he bared his teeth. “Get out!” he screamed at her. _

_ “No!” she screamed back. _

_ Instantly, his head jerked backwards in surprise. No one back talked him! They obeyed his orders without question. _

_ Enraged, he leaped from his bed and rushed her. “You insolent little—” Just when his feet hit the floor, the ground gave out beneath him. Knees hit the animal print rug beneath his bed, and the forearms sent out to catch him wobbled. _

_ The woman was at his side instantly. With one arm on his back, she allowed him to brace his shoulder on her left bicep. “There we go,” she cooed at him. “If you’re this lively, the medications must be having some effect on you.” _

_ His response? A single, angry growl. _

_ Soon, pressure rested on his forehead, and he opened his eyes. For some reason, it was the only part of his body he could move. When his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness around him, he saw that hers were grinning at him. _

_ The corners were tightened, and her cheeks were scrunched up. More than that, she had laid her forehead against his. One hand came up to lay against the side of his face. In a sing-song voice, she said, “Thank you for being so eager for me to take your temperature, my dear Count.” _

_ Leaning back, she patted the side of his face. Lucio tried to move but couldn’t. Was this woman a magician? It had to have been magic holding him still. What else would keep him from slapping her gloved hands away? _

_ “Feels like the fever broke. You’re clear to leave your room for a short while. Would you like to go for a walk in the gardens?” After helping him up to sit on the bed, she strolled to his dresser. Once her back was turned, his limbs returned to normal. _

_ Rubbing his wrists, Lucio eyed the woman carefully. So, Julian had resorted to magic to deal with this problem? Finally! He’d been preaching to anyone that would listen about the need for magic in the hunt for a cure. _

_ Science and medicine took too long. Magic was an instant cure all. A good mage could come into the Vesuvian Palace, snap his fingers, and voila! Lucio would be cured. He could go back to preparing for his masquerade. _

_ They were only a month away, and no one seemed to care! Nadia spent more and more time in her rooms, writing letters. Julian couldn’t find a cure fast enough. Then, the courtiers were useless as always. _

_ Perhaps, this woman would prove useful. Perhaps, she could solve all his problems. He could only hope. Time was closing in around him. He could feel an urgency, a something that was soon to pass. _

_ Stalking over to her, he watched as she stirred and poured medicines together. She hummed as she worked, completely oblivious to his nearness. Right as he opened his mouth to speak, she spun around. _

_ The vial she’d been pouring medication within was shoved between his lips. Shocked, he swallowed. “See, Lucio. Isn’t it easier this way?” her melodic voice purred. _

_ Eyes wide, he stared at her. With one hand, she kept the vial against his mouth. The other she pulled up to stroke the side of his face. Gone was the mask across her mouth and nose. _

_ He could see her plump lips, the little piercings on her nose and beneath her bottom lip. The smile she wore was sinister. Yet, he continued to swallow. _

_ The liquid was thick as it slithered down his throat. It tasted acidic, poisonous. Fear gripped him, and his mind screamed,  _ No! That wasn’t how it happened!

_ She’d given him his medication in bed. She’d stroked his hair and promised to do what she could to cure him. She’d vowed that— _

_ “Don’t worry, my dear Count. This’ll end your suffering. With your death, you won’t have to pay any more debts. You’ll be free.” She pulled the vial away, and again, he couldn’t move. _

_ Reaching up on her tiptoes, she laid her palms against the sides of his face. He felt liquid dripping off his bottom lip. When his eyes drifted as if he could see it, her eyes fell in line. _

_ “Such a messy boy. How did you ever get this far in life?” Her head tilted. Her eyes shut. When she parted her lips, a long forked tongue slid out. It lapped up the poison on his mouth. _

_ He gulped. His Adam's apple bobbed. Cold sweat beaded on his skin when that forked tongue teased the edge of his bottom lip. “So sweet that I could eat you up,” she cooed. _

_ Her head tilted as she studied him. Her pupils had elongated, sharpened until they resembled the slitted holes of a serpent’s eyes. “Such a guilty soul. I wonder… if I ate you, could I taste your desperation?” _

_ As Lucio stood frozen, he stared onwards in horror. Morand’s mouth began to open wide. Like the snout of a snake, her jaws parted to a sickening degree. Long fangs dripped from the roof of her mouth. They lined her bottom jaw. _

_ In Valdemar’s voice, she growled, “Think I’ll do just that.” Then, she lunged, and his world went white. _

On a gasp, Lucio felt something strike hard against his spine. He hissed in at the contact. Above him, the snow was moving. He curled in tighter against it.

He couldn’t take another memory. He couldn’t live through another nightmare. Always, the visions the Devil put in his head scored him to the bone, but the ones with Morand were the worst.

Sometimes, she killed him. Other times, she abandoned him. Forever he was reminded of the deals, the debts. The loneliness.

When snow parted to reveal tattooed arms and a single long sleeve, the dam holding back his tears burst. “Morand,” he whimpered. “Not real. Not real.”

Her hands laid against him, and that simple touch scalded him. Hissing against the first bit of warmth in this everlasting cold, he couldn’t help but sway nearer to her.

She wrapped her warm arms around him, drawing him in tight. Dream or no dream, he wanted this. He wanted to be wanted. He didn’t want to be alone. Her touch, her attention, was a drug he couldn’t live without.

Desperately, Lucio clung onto her. He burrowed his face between her neck and shoulder. She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be real. Yet, he found his mouth moving on its own, begging for her to be here. In the flesh, with him.

“You’re here. You’re you. You smell like you.” Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized he sounded half crazed. Somewhere else, he realized that he didn’t care.

All that he wanted, all that he needed was this touch, this person. “You came here. You came for me. It’s been forever!” His voice broke on the last words, cut off by harsh sobs.

Fingers dug into her shirt. His gauntlet put holes in the fabric. “Don’t change. I don’t want you to change anymore. Stay you, Morand. Please, just stay you!” he begged.

* * *

Shocked still, Morand could do little more than hold onto Lucio. Any movement was followed by him curling tighter against her. It’d only been an hour or two since they’d been separated, but how long had it been for him?

Cradling the back of his head, Morand soothed, “Shhh, Lucio. It’s okay. I’m here. I didn’t leave you. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

As if waking from a dream, he peered up at her. His warpaint was smeared. It leaked down his face in lines and smudges. Once more, Morand lost a little piece of her heart to this disaster of a man.

Lucio needed to be loved. He needed to be kept. Was she really going to be the one to do it?

As she swallowed the thought, he sniffled, “It’s not just my imagination? It’s really you?” He ran his hands across her body like he wasn’t sure whether she was real or not, and Morand shivered.

Imagination? What kinds of hallucinations had this realm been feeding him?

Unable to resist the call of his comfort, Morand gave in to her empathy. She nestled her face against his, entwining their bodies even closer. “It’s really me. I promise.”

The Count wasn’t entirely convinced. Teeth gritting together against his tears, he searched for verification. “Are you sure?” He stopped to brush tears away with the fur of his cape. “What if… What if you’re imagining things, too?”

“Oh, Lucio.”

“What if I never get out of here? What if  _ you’re  _ stuck as well?”

And back came the waterworks. Hysteria was setting in fast. It accelerated his breathing. Against her skin, Morand could feel Lucio’s heart pounding far too fast. Its beat was erratic.

Unable to think of anything else, Morand hauled him fully into her lap. Her hands laid flat against the sides of his frozen face, and she pressed her lips against his,  _ hard _ . Her kiss was desperate, seeking.

She nipped at his bottom lip before placing her soft mouth on his icy one. At first, she was met with nothing but stillness. The reaction was so unlike Lucio that it only increased her desire to show him how real she was.

She kissed him then whispered, “I’m here, Lucio.” She pulled back and kissed one corner of his lips. “I came to find you.” She kissed the other corner. “I promise.”

When her tongue teased the seam of his mouth, he gave in with a groan. His arms pulled her in. The coolness of his exposed chest turned chunks of her blood to ice, but she didn’t dare let go.

Teeth clinked together. Hers grazed his dry lips and bit down. Blood flowed, warming their tongues with crimson liquid.

Lucio wasn’t deterred. Instead, the blood excited him. Moaning into Morand’s fluttering breaths, he slithered his hands underneath her shirt. His hands busied themselves with her breasts. Warming fingers plucked at a nipple. He twisted it lightly before cradling the whole of one breast.

Soon, cold air washed across her right nipple. Lucio had pulled her bralette up completely. She had expected him to cover the skin with a hand, but he didn’t. His eyes were rapt upon ochre skin pebbling beneath flakes of snow.

Her body thrummed with tension, and she wriggled to warm up. The movement made her breasts shake, and the sight made Lucio lean back. His groan and hard swallow was the sexiest thing Morand had ever seen.

The distance didn’t last long. Impatient to continue his adventure across every inch of her body, he leaned down. His hot, wet tongue swept across her hardened nipple. He blew air across it, warming the skin. “Oh, you taste so good.”

His words made heat paint her cheekbones scarlet. She would have happily laid underneath him for the next few hours, but a harsh thought swept through on the brisk air. They didn’t need to be caught like this.

When she shimmied backwards, Lucio’s mouth came off her breast with a gentle pop. Now, it was her turn to swallow. That sound would haunt her erotic daydreams for months to come.

A gauntlet curled around her hip, and Lucio kissed her neck. His free hand pulled down her clothes, covering her so politely. “Now, I know it’s you.” He nuzzled her face with his. “No one can replicate the way you kiss.”

Replicate? Morand wanted to ask about that but didn’t. Lucio’s safety was resting in the front of her head. He needed to get out of here, away from the Devil.

Shyly hiding behind a lock of curly hair, Morand replied, “Good. Mph!”

Lucio tackled her back to the snow. He smothered her face in bites, licks, and kisses like an overexcited puppy. “You blush so pretty,” he mentioned between lingering moments of contact.

When she laughed and laid her head back, she grinned upwards. The thick, grey clouds were parting. Sunlight beamed right on them in cliche beauty.

Although the wind still surged and the snow kept falling, it didn’t feel as foreboding. The cold was ebbing away. From the top of her, Lucio’s shivers were slowing.

He rested above her on bent elbows. Taking the opportunity to swipe away his tears, Morand took time to appreciate how handsome this walking heap of drama was. His face was flushed, and his eyes sparkled teary joy.

Then, it fractured. Looking above her, he floundered with his words. “Did you… were you…?”

“Did I what?”

Looking for all the world like a child lost in a Vesuvian bazaar, Lucio mumbled, “I missed you, Morand. Did you miss me, too?”

Heart aching, she felt moisture heating up the rims of her eyelids.  _ So much,  _ her brain admitted without hesitation. The moment the Devil had taken him, she’d been distraught. She’d almost strangled Asra and Nadia more than once with how slow they’d been to send help.

Two hands laid on his shoulders, and she pushed them both to a sitting position. “Of course, I missed you.”

Like a flipped switch, his smile came back, but it wasn’t the sneering grin he boasted. Nor, was it his nervous smirk. No, he was giving her a genuine, if a little awkward, smile that curled the corners of his lips. “I knew it.”

Looking surprised by his admission, he put back on his mask of confidence. His canines flashed when he spread his mouth back into his smirk. “I mean, of course you missed me. How could you not? I make an impression on everyone I meet.”

After all of their progress… Morand closed her eyes for patience. Why did he have to put on his bravado right now? They had been doing so good.

At her expression, he flickered between facades. She saw five different faces pass before he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not that—I don’t mean…” He huffed an irritated breath. “Listen, I knew that you’d save me, but what if something happened to you along the way? What if the Devil got you, too?”

He gazed out over miles of snowfall. “Then, I’d be stuck here. Forever. With no one knowing where I was or even caring.” After clearing his throat, his grey eyes came into focus on Morand’s face. The seriousness in his eyes made her heart palpitate faster. “Thank you for saving me. Again.”

Smiling, Morand reached out to pet his hair. It was wet in places, hanging heavily down the sides of his throat. “You’re welcome. Again. But, you’re wrong about no one else caring about where you were.”

“Oh, really? Did the Palace send a rescue party after me?”

With a shake of her head, Morand doubted that the news she had for Lucio would be the type he wanted to hear. “Lucio, your mother arrived at the Palace.”

Lucio’s color drained so swiftly that Morand had to turn around to make certain the Devil wasn’t standing behind them. When she looked back at him, his eyes were wider than the moon.

“What?!” he shrieked. “Morga! My  _ mother _ ?”

Wind subsided around them, and Morand heard crunching snow approaching from behind her. The woman in question strolled from the blizzard. Her spear was held with purpose, her shoulders held back.

Once she stood before Lucio, she peered down her sharp nose at him. Morand felt as if she were watching a hawk staring down at a lowly field mouse. She spoke in clipped sentences. “Montag. Get. Up.”

Slowly, he rose on his long legs. The red of his eyes burned not from anger but terror. In the voice of false pride, he bluffed, “Mother. What the hell are you doing here?”

Morga struck. Grabbing him by the collar of his vest, she hauled him inches from her face. Their noses were almost touching as she snarled at him with every tooth in her head. “You know why I’m here, Montag. Even you aren’t stupid enough to forget what you did.”

In front of her, Lucio was sweating. Morand watched a bead roll from his forehead down his pronounced cheekbones, yet he laughed. Disdain contorted his mouth into a sneer. At this moment, Morand felt as if she could walk away without either person noticing.

Crazily, she stayed. She wanted to be close in case anything happened to Lucio. Then, she frowned at herself. Where did this bone deep protective instinct come from?

She kicked the thought into the blizzard when Lucio spoke. “Oh, Mother, you should be thanking me. I did  _ both  _ of us a favor when I got rid of that weakling.”

Disgusted, Morga slung Lucio away. She stepped backwards, never taking her eyes of him like one would do a rabid animal. She shook her head. “A favor? Is that what you call cursing and murdering your own father? Was it a  _ favor  _ when you tried to do the same to me?” Her voice grew low, barely more than a series of growls. “And despite all that, you couldn’t even finish the job.”

At their words, Morand shuffled up to her feet. Weakling? Curse? Murder? What the ever loving fuck had Lucio done now?!

Guiltless, Lucio put a hand on his hip. “I was just—”

“When I confronted you, you fled the South. You ran like the coward you are,” Morga spat. She adjusted the grip on her spear, set her jaw hard, and directed the weapon towards her son.

Her voice was clear, unwavering. Sounding like she was sentencing the Count, she stated, “Montag, I don’t forgive patricide, and I don’t forget it.”

Unable to sit by anymore, Morand yelped, “What?!”

The cry sent Lucio leaping from his spot. He jerked his head towards Morand, and guilt finally reared its ugly head. It showed in the form of burning blush when he made eye contact with Morand.

As if he were talking about accidentally letting the dog out at night, he whined, “Mother, did you have to say all that in front of Morand? She’s my only hope! The only one who bothered helping me!”

_ Starting to really reconsider that decision, Big Boy, _ Morand thought.

Morga exhaled and relaxed her grip. “So, I’ve seen. In that case… She has a right to know what you’ve done.”

Two hands sailed to Morand’s hips, and she eased closer to Morga. They stood side by side, eyeing the man down. Women in solidarity.

And Lucio still shook his head. He marched closer to jab a finger in Morga’s face. He accused, “If anything, Papa’s death was  _ your  _ fault! You were always going on about how the old man was weak, how leading our people fell to you. You just never had the guts to kill him yourself!”

Morga was unmoved. In a tone much softer than Morand thought possible, she spoke, “Had you killed your father in honorable combat, I  _ would  _ be proud of you. Instead, I sensed foul magic on you that day. The stench of pestilence. I don’t know how, but you used some wicked arts to weaken your father and I before battle. You have no sense of honor, no true strength of your own.”

Lucio’s jaw slacked. “Mother—”

Eyes closed, Morga continued, “And your weakness… is  _ my  _ failing. I coddled you too much for you to be strong. I should never have let you run from me that day.”

For the first time, Lucio went silent. His guilt laid across his accused face. This time, Morand didn’t feel the urge to comfort him. Matter of fact, she would have really liked to slap him into next year.

Morga spoke up. “You’ve run from your past for too long, Monty. It ends here, today.”

Lucio’s eyes darted to his mother’s spear. “Wh-what are you saying? Whatever it is you think you need to do—Don’t!”

“No? Give me one reason I should stay my hand?”

He couldn’t offer anything. Shrinking on an emotional level, he stepped away from his mother. His eyes jumped from her to Morand.

Though she had to pinch the bridge of her nose before doing anything, Morand stepped between mother and son. Her arms moved out, hands up in a stopping gesture. “Stop!” she barked. “Let’s… Talk this out. We don’t have to kill anyone—” She cut her eyes at Lucio. “—Yet.”

A surge of magic crackled along Morand’s hands. It encircled the symbols of gender on each of the apprentice’s fingers. The sight of the magician made Morga sigh.

She relaxed a smidge. “Montag, if you have anything to say, now would be the time.”

The Count’s eyes met his feet. The wet leather of his boots shuffled about the snow. They left imprints in a small horde. “Mother, I’m… I know I’ve made some oopsies. Bad ones. But… Now, I’m trying to fix them. I swear I am.”

Morga bore her fangs. “I’ve heard that lie before. Why should I believe you now?”

Lucio’s upper body turned towards the apprentice. Though she offered no sympathy in her expression, the Count filled up with fearful hope. “Because it’s not just me anymore. I know I can’t fix things on my own, so… I’m trying to make things right with Morand’s help.”

To that, the magician’s brows scaled her forehead. She eyed Lucio’s wobbly smile of support skeptically. It wasn’t until Morga addressed her that she could find words.

The warrior asked, “Is that true, Morand?”

Sighing to the clouds, Morand pursed her lips and nodded. “Yeah. Granted, it’s a work in progress, but any addict can change when they decide they want to.”

“Hmph. Of course, he’s a work in progress. I did raise him, you know.” She looked the least bit relieved, yet her shoulders remained stiff. “If you truly mean to help my son, then I wish you luck.”

Slowly, she began to lower her spear. When the weapon’s reflective tip wasn’t pointed at the Count, the apprentice could finally breathe. Ah, she’d forgotten how nice oxygen was.

To the magician, the warrior added, “Thank you, Morand. Whatever you may think of me, I did not enjoy the thought of killing my own son.”

Lucio ruined the seriousness of the moment by cracking a grin. “Mother, would you really have—”

Twin sets of eyes glared at him. Morga replied, “Why do you waste time asking useless questions? If you wish to make up for your many shortcomings, you’d better start now.”

Hastily, he nodded along with her. While she remained vigilant, he slumped in relief. Morand, on the other hand, wanted to haul Lucio off by the ear for a good hounding at. As things stood, it would have to wait.


	12. Lifeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been messing around on YouTube, and I made a writing playlist for what I listen to when I'm writing Lucio's POV. Here is a link if you're interested. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9ixqnsAbTPdqIJJ-uSgwj1wS00BRcmf_

**Lifeline**

Guilt weighed on his body like someone had dropped a piano on his head. The look Morand was giving him when combined with his mother’s skeptical glare was hard to ignore. Their eyes burned through him in an emotion that was far worse than rage, disappointment.

Determined to wear his false face, Lucio straightened his spine. He stood tall and proud. “I can’t do anything in this stupid blizzard. Let’s get out of here.”

From behind him, a new voice chimed, “I’m afraid it’s not so simple.”

Three heads whipped towards the sound. Morga had her spear up in a split second. Through the blizzard, a form was coming into view. What started out as a silhouette of flowing coat and voluminous hair became the body of Asra Alzanar.

The sight of him came with a mix of emotions. Lucio felt relief, jealousy, and annoyance. The relief came from the fact that he might have another ally against his mother’s rage. The jealousy stemmed from the smile Asra’s appearance brought to Morand’s face. Lastly, the annoyance came from Asra. Why did it have to be Asra?

Luckily, the emotions were distracted when two more figures appeared behind him. They were people that Lucio had thought he’d never see again. One was a woman. The second, a man.

Wearing an al-amira veil of light pink, the woman bore the same light brown skin tone of Asra. Her brows were a snowy white. Her eyes were a pale purple.

Compared to the woman beside him, the man was almost scruffy. His fluffy, brown hair matched the young man leading the trio. A whisper of a beard laid against a square jawline.

Immediately, Lucio gulped. They were Asra’s parents—in the flesh. In the name of Vlagnagog, this was about to get interesting.

Bypassing the Count, Asra laid his hand on Morand’s forearm. He guided her to the new magicians. With his eyes on Morand and Morand alone, Asra introduced, “It looks like you found Lucio. I found the magicians who made this gate. Morand, Morga, I’d like you to meet my parents.”

When Morand’s jaw dropped, Lucio’s tightened. His teeth clinked together sharply, audible despite the blizzard. Just what he needed right now, more reasons for the apprentice to hate him.

Surely, though, she didn’t. Yeah, he’d made mistakes—oopsies. He’d sold his soul to the Devil, killed his father, and some other things that could result in a public hanging for the average man, but Lucio wasn’t an average man.

He was handsome. He had a great house. He damned sure knew how to throw a party. Surely, once he got his body back, became count, and started spoiling Morand like the masterful magician she was, she’d forget all those bad things from his past.

He gulped when Asra cut his eyes at him. Or, maybe, she’d leave him to go back to the magician. Good thing that his title said he could tie her up in his bed with or without her permission.

Pushing away the fantasies that thought put into his head, he pouted while Morand was announced to Asra’s family. The woman, one whose name Lucio had forgotten years ago, stretched her hand out to  _ his  _ Morand. She spoke, “I’m Aisha—” Oh, right. That was her name. “—and you must be Morand and Morga. Asra told us all about your journey here.”

The man was the next to introduce himself. “And I’m Salim. It’s nice to meet you.”

Salim’s almost sleepy but soothing words rolled through the air in a warm friendliness towards the apprentice. When Morand’s lips curled on a small smile, Lucio’s heart stuttered. That was a new smile, kind yet uncertain.

To the stammer of his heartbeat, the snow slowed until stopping completely. The air seemed to raise a few degrees. Was the realm reacting to him, or was it the newcomers?

Not one to be left out of the conversation, Lucio lifted his hand in a small wave. “Oh. Uh, hey there. Hi. We’ve met, too.”

They ignored him when Asra spoke over his words. “I asked them what happened. It seems the Devil trapped them here years ago.”

What a coincidence! That happened to be around the same time that Lucio had been told to banish them into the Vesuvian dungeons. Whodathunkit?

Asra threw a venomous look at Lucio. He added, “When the Devil captured Lucio, he already had a ready-made prison for one more.”

Internally, Lucio winced. He knew better than to show it. When Morand didn’t join Asra in glaring, he breathed a slow sigh through his nose. He  _ needed  _ her on his side. She was the only ally he had right now.

Luckily for him, she didn’t fret the details. She directed, “We should all leave as soon as possible. It can’t be good for us to stay here for long.”

Salim replied, “Oh, I quite agree.”

She nodded at him. “There was a golden doorway when we came through.”

Fabrics rustled when Aisha put a thoughtful finger to the side of her face. “I suspect you could simply leave the way you came, but for Salim and I, the situation is less straightforward.”

* * *

Less straightforward? Morand didn’t like the sound of that. Too quickly, the apprentice had learned that nothing was ever simple when Lucio was concerned. It really should have dampened her lust regarding the man, but a sexual thirst didn’t respond to logic.

Beside her, Lucio squirmed in that childish way. She pointedly put him out of her mind. She could, and would, deal with him later. Instead, she focused on Aisha’s explanation of events.

“Our familiars are still captive somewhere in this realm. We cannot leave while they remain.”

Her husband chimed in, “We stand a better chance of freeing them with more help. Asra, could your friends lend a hand?”

“Morand’s a great magician, and though Morga isn't my friend, I’ve seen her track.” Asra paused in his review of the team’s talents to roll eyes over Lucio. The Count looked like he wouldn’t mind being covered back up in another snowdrift. “As for you, Lucio, I think it’s about time you helped someone other than yourself. Especially since you contributed to my parent’s imprisonment.”

Morand didn’t react this time. Slowly, she tilted her head to the clouds and exhaled.  _ Gettin’ real tired of your sins, Lucio. _ At what point would she admit the Count was a lost cause and leave him to wallow in his personal damnation?

The apprentice wasn’t a—what did people call it? A fixer? She didn’t feel the need to change her lovers into a better version of themselves. Her relationship motto was “Keep up or get left behind, bitch boy.”

That was why she never got upset when Asra left, so long as he paid his rent on time. That was why she’d yet to keep a long standing relationship beyond hasty kisses and heavy petting. No one had ever been able to keep up. Therefore, their asses got left behind.

Besides, when Lucio got his life back into order, Morand would be able to kick this schoolgirl crush she had on the Count. The man was too flighty. He wasn’t “settle down” material. Morand wanted a mate for life, someone to have rough, kinky sex with, and then accidentally have a kid they would choose to raise together.

She knew what she wanted out of life, and she would never put her goals aside to pine after a man so far out of her price range. Guy spent more money on his masquerades than he did on the city. Vanity was something Morand was well versed in. She was proud of her ass-ets, but even a vain person had to be responsible sometimes.

As if he wanted to emphasize her opinion of him, Lucio cried out at Asra’s accusation. He yapped, “Hey, hey now. Let’s not throw around—”

Morand’s master shut the Count up with a glare that chilled the space between the men. Asra looked a single comment away from throwing down with Lucio. That kind of confrontation wasn’t what anyone needed right now.

For some reason, Morand decided to play mother hen. She tucked a stray hair behind her pierced ear. “Alright then. Tell me what happened.”

Aisha shook her head. “It is a long tale. Perhaps, we should focus our efforts on escape rather than recrimination?”

Morand couldn’t agree more, but Count Lucio was having a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome today. With a guilty face, he tried to soothe, “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot when the Devil dumped me here.”

Salim frowned at him. “That’s an understatement.”

“But if you need help, and there’s anything I can do… I’ll do it.” Lucio’s eyes drew towards Morand as if to say, “Look. I’m being a good boy this time. Be proud of me!”

The warrior in the realm must have grown tired of their idle chatter because she whistled sharply. Her eagle answered her with its mighty screech, and Morand frowned towards Jæger. He was golden-eyes-locked on Lucio as always.

Addressing the group, Morga explained, “Someone needs to make sure Montag keeps his word, so I will help with your search. Tell me what we’re looking for.”

Immediately, Aisha turned towards the snowy wasteland. Morga made quick work getting to her side, and the mothers began to lead the group. As they spoke to each other in low voices, Morand felt a sad ache in her heart. Asra and Lucio both had parents that they knew, that loved them.

Morand wondered what that felt like. She couldn’t even try to think about her parents without her head beginning to throb. What was her mother like? Did she have wild, curly hair like she did? Was her father still alive? Would he approve of the way she changed her sex to match her fluidity?

As soon as she felt a headache manifesting, she blocked her thoughts with a hard shake. This amnesia was so infuriating! She had memories. She had a past, but she wasn’t allowed to remember it. Had there been something nearby, she would have shoved her fist through it.

As things stood, she kicked the snow with a huff. No one noticed. They were too busy following the women. Lucio slowed his pace to fall into step with her.

“Hey, Morand,” he greeted, and she had to blink at the expression on his face. He was giving her his true smile, that soft one often accompanied by an awkward curve of the left corner of his lips. “Thanks for everything. I really mean it. With you here, I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

Morand smiled, tired and heavy lidded. By the gods, she wanted a break. A little moment of peace and quiet to get her thoughts together. Being around Lucio put her inside an emotional whirlwind. He was hard to keep up with, but Morand was determined. She’d keep up as best she could.

Instead of speaking, she followed the others in silence. Though their pace was punishing, it was a moment for her to calm down. Every now and then, either Lucio or Asra would glance back to check up on her.

More than once the two men in her life met eyes. They would bare teeth at each other before jerking their heads away. Morand felt as if she were watching two alpha males fight over the same prey.

After a few hours of journeying, Lucio’s quiet reached its breaking point. His arms swung childishly at his sides. To no one in particular, he commented, “So… nice weather we’re having.”

Mentally, Morand groaned. He couldn’t have stayed quiet just a little bit longer? From the front of the pack, Asra and his parents ignored the Count’s observation. Morga, on the other hand, glared with eyes as cold as the snow beneath their feet.

Huffing, Lucio shook a few lingering snowflakes out of his backwards swept hair. He whined, “Listen, marching aimlessly is great and all, but do we even know where to find these… uh, familiars? Are we going the right way?”

Aisha spoke simply, “Yes.”

The word brightened Lucio’s mood for a short moment. Mouth wide, he proclaimed, “Good. That’s great!”

The older woman didn’t elaborate for him. After giving her answer, she turned her back to the Count. Sandals made wet crunches against thick snow.

The silence didn’t satisfy Lucio. He fidgeted, toeing the snow on his steps and making a low whistle in no particular rhythm. Not after too long did he speak again. “Anybody know a good story?

Deciding now was the time to cut the tension, Morand observed, “Well, this is awkward.” She, too, was met with noiselessness. Her voice carried on a breeze.

Colorful clothing moved, and Asra turned his head towards his apprentice. “It certainly is, but it’s not your fault, Morand.”

The apprentice scowled. She knew it wasn’t her fault. It was the elephant in the room that no one wanted to mention, or more aptly put—the goat.

Said goat caught the direction of Asra’s commentary. Lucio yapped, “Oh, let me guess. It’s my fault, like everything else.”

Asra glowered. “You’re less stupid that I remember.”

“Asra,” the magician’s mother urged. She placed a soothing hand on her son’s shoulder. As if she were a pest, he shrugged her off.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t pretend everything’s going to be fine once we free your familiars.”

Lucio couldn’t help himself. “Uh, I thought that was the whole point.” He raised his hands with dramatic flourish. “March through disgusting snow, grab some familiars, get out? Or did I miss something?”

The group came to a hard stop when Asra’s boots dug into the snow. Tufts of white powder kicked up in his march. Before anyone could intervene, the magician was in Lucio’s face. Asra snarled, “If you must talk, then answer something for me. I want to know why.”

“Why?” Lucio stammered. “Uh, why what?”

Feeling like the only adult in the room, Morand wedged herself between master and Count. She put two hands on her hips and asked, “Alright. What’s this about?”

Asra reared back at her presence, as if he was surprised she was still around. After recovering, he continued, “When the Devil trapped my parents here, Lucio had a hand in that.”

The Count sputtered like a leaky fountain. Spikey, blonde hair shook side to side furiously. “Oh, please. That’s outrageous! All I did was—”

Asra snatched Lucio’s arm and held it up as if the Count had stolen the appendage he wore. “See his magical arm? My parents constructed it for him, and as thanks for all their hard work, he locked them up in the Palace dungeons.” Asra threw Lucio’s arm down with more force than necessary.

By now, Morand was steadily losing count of all the things Lucio had done in his foolish bid for power. Had she known all of these details prior to meeting the goast in the Palace would she still have bound him to her? Worrying her fingernails together, she looked at Asra’s parents.

They didn’t bear any scorn in their demeanors. Matter of fact, they stood coolly, faces entirely neutral. Morga had more reaction when she scoffed, “Hmph. Unsurprising.”

Lucio burst onto the scene. “I’m the Count! We’re talking about  _ my  _ arm! It had to be one of a kind.”

Asra didn’t calm. He pressed, “And while my parents were in those cells, awaiting their fate, the Devil made his move.”

“It was nothing personal, you know! Just business.”

The master magician’s expression was stoney and unmoving. “You think that makes it all right somehow?! You insufferable—”

Before Asra could come to blows with Lucio, his father intervened. He put a hand on Asra’s shoulder, curling fingers into the soft fabric of the magician’s multi-colored jacket. In a reassuring voice, he suggested, “Asra, let’s just… keep going.”

After a shaky exhale, Asra allowed his father to pull him back. There was no mistaking the tension of his clenched fist, the firm set of his jaw. When the group set off, Morand was left torn between the man she had to save and the man who had once saved her.

“Whew. That got heated. I wish they’d all just leave me alone,” Lucio sighed. He gave Morand an uneasy grin. “I agreed to help, didn’t I? Dumping the past on me won’t do any good.”

The words made a sour taste fill Morand’s mouth. She curled her lip up. At least, Lucio had a past.

She took another step before the ground around them began to tremble. Quickly, it heaved, rending itself in two. The force of the quake sent Morand flying onto her ass in the snow. Lucio landed beside her.

“Augh! What now?” he yelped.

In front of them, a gaping maw began to open. A mighty fissure spread from as far as the eye could see to their left and right. When a spiderweb crack lashed towards him, Morand snatched Lucio by his cape. She hauled him beneath her, cradling his shocked face underneath her interlocked hands.

Across the distance, Morga shouted, “Run!”

Her command forced Morand to her feet. She grabbed Lucio with two fists and forced him onto his boots. Their feet rushed them back the way they’d come, further and further away from the direction of Morga’s voice.

Then, as suddenly as the fissure came, the shaking stopped. Black sandals skidded to a stop, flinging wet snow onto Morand’s damp pants. When she turned around, her heart hit her feet.

Lucio spoke, “Well, that’s a problem.”

_ No shit, Count Obvious.  _ Ignoring him, Morand slowly approached the chasm. Down and down it went. The void sunk so far that light couldn’t fully penetrate the earthen floor. It was like looking into the maw of hell.

“Augh! I am so sick of all this—this magic nonsense!” Lucio howled.

Across from them, Morand went slack jawed. Four figures stood on the other side of the fissure. They were so far away that the rest of the group looked like barely colored specks on the horizon.

_ Just how long would that take to cross? _

Lucio and Morand were completely cut off from them, and it finally sent Morand over the edge. Spinning to face him, she yelled, “And now we  _ are  _ alone! Are you happy now, Lucio!”

He took an uncertain step backwards at her rage. Seeming lost, he said, “Huh? What?”

Morand slung her arm to where Asra and the others were. Their figures moved around, searching for a way to get back to them. “You said you wanted everyone to leave you alone. Looks like you got your wish!”

His entire body went hot pink. From his collarbone to his forehead, the Count glowed embarrassment. “I didn’t  _ wish  _ for a huge, stinking chasm. I just wanted them to lay off!”

Morand pinched the bridge of her nose and kicked a rock into the split realm. It sailed towards nothingness, never making a sound at the possibly nonexistent bottom. Oh, how badly she wanted to berate Lucio right now, but she couldn’t.

The parental part of her body wouldn’t stop reminding her that he was new to magic, that he couldn’t understand it. It also reminded her that Lucio had been good to her.

_ Even a fool deserves redemption, Mor. _

Her body jerked at the invasive thought. She hadn’t heard it in her mind’s voice. Instead, it had been more silky, comforting, and almost… motherly?

Clearing her head with a shake, she paced at the chasm edge. The sides of it were jagged like the spikes of Lucio’s gauntlet. After rubbing her tired eyes, she opened them back up and frowned.

There was no way. Was she seeing things? A few yards ahead was a set of stairs. They were narrow, craggy. Maybe, it was blind optimism making her hallucinate, but the stairs appeared to go down one side and back up the other.

She rubbed her eyes a second and third time, but each time they reopened, the stairs were still there. Hair sailed over her shoulders when she turned to Lucio. He was toying with the end of his sleeve, grumbling. Had he unintentionally changed the landscape after she’d screamed at him?

“Morand!” Asra called out to her. His words came to her with a magical sound boost. “Do you see anything? A way to get over here?”

Nodding, she pointed towards the sudden stairway. Only vaguely did she wonder if the others could see it. Nonetheless, she responded, “Yeah! I think we can go down and back up.”

Lucio appeared beside her. “Uh, down? In there?” He tossed a hunk of ice just as Morand had and sent it sailing downwards. “Sure. March down into a dark abyss. No problem at all.”

Hip cocked out, she poked him in his bare chest. “If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Looking distinctly put out, he cupped hands around his mouth and shouted to the others. “Yeah! We’ll just climb down and back up. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Morand looked into the void of darkness. The Count was an optimist to a fault. Still, she didn’t voice a disagreement.

Her eyes found Asra along the opposite edge of the ravine. Worry was obvious in his still stance, the way he faced her with all his attention on the other side of the earth’s split. He yelled to her once more. “Are you sure?”

Morand made a dramatic shrug with her arms outstretched. “Hell if I know, but it’s the only way across.” Besides, her magic senses were tingling. This chasm felt just as imbued with power as the labyrinth and woods had. They needed to go down, to face whatever was haunting Lucio together.

It was that thought that calmed her ire just the teeniest bit. To Asra, she encouraged, “Go ahead. We’ll catch up.”

His words were softer on his next yell. Morand had to strain to hear them. “If you say so… Good luck, Morand.”

When Morand was sure they were going to leave them behind, she led the descent with Lucio trailing behind. Each step they took had them burrowing deeper into darkness. They hadn’t gone but a few steps before the cloudy sky overhead was gone, replaced by a sightless blackness.

Behind her, she could hear a scratching sound. It made the hairs on the back of her neck raise until metal fingers brushed against her bare skin. Lucio must have been searching for her because he skimmed her hand three times before finally latching on.

“Morand?” he asked, unseen despite their close vicinity.

Deciding to give him a little help, she lit up her body. The glow had Arache clan runes glowing against rough, stone walls. They cast geometric patterns on Lucio’s arm, glowing alongside the magic that illuminated his prosthetic.

Once he could see her, he exhaled a loud breath. “There you are.”

Morand grunted in response. Lucio pulled them almost shoulder to shoulder. The narrow stairs could barely fit their bodies, and she had to focus on the faint outline of her feet just to take a step ahead.

“Oooh, spooky,” Lucio taunted towards the darkness. When his voice echoed over and over again he rolled his eyes at the cliche. The Count began to list, “Crumbling stairs, deep dark chasm, spooky echoes… Please, I was haunting the Palace for years. This is nothing.”

He kept a protective hand on Morand’s arm when he maneuvered around to take the lead. Confident footfalls hit the rocks in a staccato rhythm. Tendrils of fog swirled the deeper he led, but Lucio wasn’t daunted. He bravely put one foot ahead of the other.

How that man could ignore everything he’d done to keep moving forward amazed Morand. Did he not have a conscience? She scrunched up her nose at that idea.

No, he had a conscience. She knew it in the cold sweat that beaded his forehead when he stood in the presence of someone he’d wronged. His tells were becoming more clear to her.

When Lucio knew he was wrong, he’d put on a brave face. He would charge unthinking into a situation. The worst one so far? He’d put his foot so deep in his mouth that Morand was surprised he hadn’t choked on it yet.

Had he not been so damnably naive, would she have left him behind? His mother claimed to have coddled him as a child. Hell, that was obvious. The man acted like a brat, always needing other people’s attention on him.

Morand nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip. Lucio’s dirty laundry had been aired out without his consent. As much as he deserved it, people were constantly shitting on him. Treat a man like a beast long enough, and he’ll become one.

Feeling like a fool, Morand drew in a breath for confidence. Her words tangled in the air with the Count’s when they spoke at the same time.

“Morand, I—”

“Lucio, we need—”

Like shy children in the schoolyard, they froze in the spot. Two pairs of eyes went down to the place where their hands were still interlocked, and Morand swallowed. She really was an idiot.

Releasing her to rub a hand on the back of his neck, Lucio posted up on the stone surrounding them. “You, uh. You go first.”

Morand shook her head. “No. You first. You were already talking when I cut you off.”

He frowned at her but didn’t argue further. She could see his facade fracturing and rebuilding itself before her eyes. It was like watching a roulette wheel spin between colors and numbers.

“Erm. I, uh…” he started. Fidgeting in place, Morand wondered if she should just take the reins, but he finally blurted out, “I didn’t do it for no good reason!”

The words  _ good reason  _ made a haunting melody in the chasm. They danced around the couple as if mocking Lucio’s verbiage. To her own credit, she didn’t believe him. Instead, she regarded him with a single, raised brow.

“Which crime are we talking about, Lucio? The patricide, or what the Devil did to my master’s parents.”

He winced at her use of  _ my master _ . “The… All of the crime—oopsies.”

Oh, she was so not in the mood to deal with his childishness right now. Still, she stood there, unspeaking. It was a good strategy.

Lucio twitched harder in the silence. He twirled the fur of his cape between his fingertips. “My dad was… He was extremely weak. He didn’t care about our tribe. He was just in it for the food, you know. Had no ambition.”

“And you did?”

“Of course, I did! My mother led our people. I was her heir. When I came of age, it was supposed to be my turn to lead. I had the drive to do it. I could lead the clan to glory. She just never gave me a chance to prove it!”

Morand softened more towards Morga with that admission than she did Lucio. The apprentice may not know anything about who she was before Asra, but she didn’t believe she’d been raised in a family where a woman like Morga led. Kindness for others was ingrained into her. She liked to entertain, to please.

Henceforth, why she couldn’t wrap her head around why Lucio felt the need to  _ kill his parents.  _ Yeah, they sounded like they didn’t know how to raise a child. Morga had admitted to letting her son lie about his prestige instead of beating some sense into him. She had fed his vanity by not stopping it. Being lax in parenting was just as bad as being too strict.

“And I hadn’t intentionally set out to kill them in the first place!” Lucio yapped at her.

_ Excuse me, what? _ Pulling back, Morand had to catch herself from falling off a loose stone. She righted herself just in time to bark, “Then, how do you  _ accidentally  _ set out to kill someone?”

“I made a deal.” He turned until she could only see one side of his face. To the stairs, he said, “I told you about the deal I made with Vlastomil, remember? Hearts for power. I didn’t go to see  _ him _ . I was making an offering to our people’s god, but he showed up instead.”

“And he said that he would give you everything you needed if you just gave him the hearts of your parents,” she filled in.

He nodded. The show of weakness was a development for them both. As surprised as she was to see him broken, he seemed shocked that he’d admitted anything at all.

_ Any addict can change when they decide they want to.  _ Her words from earlier came back to bite her. Lucio had committed a crime. He’d killed for the sake of his own arrogance, and now his debts were being called in.

She felt so torn. On one hand, people had died because of Lucio’s stupidity, his vanity. On the other hand, a man couldn’t change unless he was taught how to. Was this how criminals felt after their sentences were up, when they had the chance to remain or reform?

She ran her hands through her hair, sighing when her fingers got caught in black knots. With her eyes closed, she breathed, “Lucio…” She paused, uncertain as to what exactly she was planning on saying.

When her eyes reopened, Lucio wasn’t looking at her. His arms were crossed over his chest, less in defiance and more in an act of self-comfort. Again, he was reverting to a young boy’s stance of insecurity.

It inspired her. “Lucio, you’ve already changed. So much. Just because past is past doesn’t mean we have to repeat it. You’ve been willing to change, and I’ve seen progress. Even if no one else believes it, I… I know you’re a better man than what you used to be.”

At her words, Lucio reached for her. “Mor, you don’t really…” 

Just as he laid a hand on Morand’s bicep, a strange howl carried through the fog imbued darkness. Both of them jumped. When Morand landed back, her foot found the loose rock from earlier.

It began to disintegrate. Her foot slid. Arms pinwheeled in the air. “Luci-o!”

He snatched her around the waist before both feet tumbled into oblivion. “Gotcha!”

Staggering backwards, he slung his back into the wall. Breaths panted between them, and their palpitating hearts reached for each other despite the two rib cages in the way.

Mouth wide, Lucio beamed down to where the magician’s face was plastered on his chest. With a suppressed tremble in his throat, he commented, “You know, Morand, if you’re afraid of falling, I don’t have to let go.”

She frowned into his skin. Well, that was quite a change in attitude from the conversation they’d been having. With her palms flat on each side of his warm chest, she wondered exactly whether to rejoin their almost argument or… 

Lucio’s warm palm came up to the top of her head. She knew he was looking somewhere above her even though her face was laid against his chest. When she tried to look up, his grip tightened, holding her in place.

She could imagine that his eyes were closed when he whispered, “Please, Morand. Please, just… drop it. Okay?”

Though she suffered from residual tremors, she decided it was more important not to let his heroics go unrewarded. Her hands sunk into the warmth of his clothing, and she held him tight.

Changing the subject to something more light hearted, she cooed, “Lucio, I’m terrified of the dark.” She batted her eyelashes up at him. “Please, don’t let me go?”

The cackle he let out was two parts witchy and one part victorious. Winking at her, he purred, “I can do better than that.”

Without warning, Morand was swept into the Count’s arms. Her eyes went wide, and she had to throw arms around his neck else suffer being dumped onto the stones. “Oh!” she yelped.

“Don’t squirm,” he chastised. Lucio had to adjust the hands on the backs of her thighs before he continued. “How am I supposed to heroically carry you if you won’t hold still?”

Morand bit her bottom lip. Peering through hair that had tumbled into her eyes, she whispered, “Oh… Was that the plan?”

“Obviously! It’s more fun this way, and it’s a good look for me. Forging on in the face of thick fog and treacherous steps with a lovely magician safe in my arms.”

After getting her face comfy in the clean scented cradle of his throat and shoulder, she corrected, “Witch. I’m a lovely witch.”

He smiled into the void. “Don’t worry, Mor. I’m not gonna drop you or anything.”

Oddly, it was the nickname that made her heart race. Asra had never called her by a nickname. He was always a strange combination of formal yet informal, never so much to be a lover but also comfortable enough to call a close friend.

How Morand and Lucio had gone from such a tense conversation to this casual flirtation was a blessing. Lucio wobbled on the next step, and the magician clutched him tighter. “I’m going to die,” she snarked.

“Whoops!” He quickly corrected his footing. “And, you’re not going to die. I got it. I promise. I got it.”

The Count paused with a smooch on Morand’s forehead. He used the stall to his advantage. Arms flexed underneath her, and she was jostled up higher in his grip. The hands that had been latched around his neck locked on tighter.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“Mmm.”

She had to admit that the ominous darkness and looming fog weren’t half as terrifying when you were being carried by a man whose spirit form resembled a goat. Creepy chasm be damned if she didn’t find at least one way to crack a joke at her own fear.

After a few more steps, Lucio intoned, “I once saw a painting like this in some rich noble’s house. It showed a victorious hero, carrying his lover in his arms and a huge hunting trophy on his back. The painting filled an entire wall. I’ve never forgotten it.”

Releasing half of her hold, she teased his jawline with feather light touches. “You’re missing the hunting trophy.”

He shook his head. “Ha. I tried that once. It looks great in a painting… But, it’s pretty gross in real life. I wound up with blood and matted fur all over my back.”

“Kinky,” she snickered. When he gaped at her, she winked and tousled his blonde hair. “So, was she cute?”

“Huh?”

“Was she cute? The lover you posed with for your painting?”

He bore his teeth confidently then nuzzled her nose with his own. “The lover was a he, and he wasn’t half as cute as you are.”

Oh, he was good.

Lucio straightened back up. “I’m still a pretty dashing hero, though. Don’t you think?”

With her head resting on his shoulder, she watched him with heavy lidded eyes. Yes, he was dashing right now. His confident smirk, the swagger he retained despite having to carry her hundred thirty pound ass down this never ending stairway to hell. Still, she didn’t want him to continue on his ever forward path to vanity.

Halfway teasing, she said, “Actually, Lucio, you don’t need to be a hero. I like  _ you _ .”

His entire body jerked at the confession. Body gone stiller than a three week old corpse, he stared at her. “You don’t mean that,” he dodged.

Lips skimming over the side of his face, Morand shimmied until her mouth was at his ear. Even though they were the only ones in this chasm, she whispered, “Of course, I do.”

“Huh. I… uh. That’s—”

Morand grinned against his skin. A single sentence, and she’d shattered his defenses. Oh, the power. Now, if only he’d stay like this and not that arrogant bastard he whipped out around others.

Slowly, a nervous smile spread across his lips. He looked completely uncertain when he replied, “Thanks. I think.” Then, he paused to taste test the words some more. More confidently, he repeated, “Yeah. Thanks for saying that.”

“You’re welcome, Lucio.”

* * *

In his thirty-eight years of life, Lucio had never had anyone tell him that they liked him. No strings attached. No deals. No ulterior motives. Frankly, he had no idea what to do about it.

How in the name of Vlagnagog could she say that to him? Right now, of all times? He’d admitted to murder, to aiding and abetting the Devil.

Years of guilt felt like they were peeled off of him with that statement. Despite his confusion, he leaned down to kiss the most beautiful person he’d ever met. She tasted like magic and smelled like fresh earth.

She was forgiving him even though he’d committed so many wrongs. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t—

When tears heated his eyes, he clenched them tighter. All he needed to focus on was Morand. He wanted to put the feel of her to memory. He wanted to know everything about her. Her favorite foods, her favorite plays, and what her rituals were before bed.

Some dark, niggling voice in his head told him that he was still in the snow, hallucinating. It said that she would leave him. It reminded him that he wasn’t worth her time.

_ And once she knows everything, she’ll leave you forever. _

The thought pressed in with the force of an anvil strike. Trying to tough out the way his fingers trembled, Lucio unwrapped the magician from himself. His mouth never left hers. She was a lifeline, the only genuinely good thing that had happened to him a long time.

He kissed her with all of the tenderness lost to him throughout the years. Gone was the lust driven force of their previous interludes. He focused on making his touch pleasurable, thinking about more than the quickest way to achieve his own ecstasy.

This was a lover’s kiss, the kind that he didn’t think he’d ever experienced. Soon, tears began to dampen his eyelids. He ignored them.

Tilting his head for a better angle, Lucio breathed in all that was Morand. He cradled her in two hands. Thumbs moved to memorize every curve of her gorgeous face. Some day, he would have a portrait of hers framed. Some day, he would commission a statue of her.

With him or not, Morand’s image would haunt his memory. He was being branded by her tenderness, her loyalty. He would never force her to do anything against her will. He’d lay at her feet and worship the ground she walked on, whatever he had to do to keep this feeling at the forefront of his heart.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. It wasn’t without effort. Once, twice, a third and fourth time, he reconnected with her soft lips. Had she not daubed a finger to the moisture on her face, he didn’t think he would have ever left the sanctuary of her body.

Dazedly, he smiled at her. His skin was heated. His body thrummed with the giddiness of a boy kissing his first love.

“Whew,” he muttered. His hands were trembling, and he clutched his right arm with his gauntlet. Lucio didn’t want this moment to stop. He wanted to bask for a little while longer, but his persistent Morand wouldn’t let that stand.

Looking just as flustered as he did, she breathlessly suggested, “Why don’t I walk the rest of the way?”

The Count had to clear his throat to keep emotional scratchiness from breaking into his tone. “Yeah. That’s probably for the best, but remember, I’m right here. You know, if you get scared again.”

The conversation somewhat helped to soothe the emotions rioting in his skull. They pinged around as if they were untrained hounds loose in the woods. Pushing the power of what they’d shared down, he waggled his brows at her.

She laughed, a sound he would have gladly paid to hear again, and he was helpless not to join her. Every second with Morand was more interesting than the last. Even when she was piqued with him, he craved the attention.

Lucio would win Morand. He just needed to figure out how to do it.


	13. Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIVE!!! Ahoy hoy ~ This is N_Layne speaking. I hope everyone is doing great. My update was a little stalled this week 'cause I took my significant pain in the ass (AKA my boy toy/best friend/big bearded babe) out kayaking. Since he's a city boy, he mostly spun in circles trying to figure out how to paddle while I yakked laps around him, but that's okay. He's learning. Side note - these latest chapters mostly deal with jealousy because I like to stab my characters. Death by a thousand paper cuts kinda thing. Hope you enjoy!

**Sunlight**

Lucio had long since given up trying to understand time in this realm. After his emotional intermission with Morand, he knew that the seriousness of the situation was creeping back in on them. Though tension still laid between the pair, words unspoken and sins yet to be unveiled, they had reached a truce. He could only pray that it lasted as long as they stayed together.

When his foot finally made contact on solid ground instead of the stairway, he breathed sharply. His legs wanted to keep descending, so he had to adjust his posture else tilt face first into the earth. Once adjusted, his senses came to the fore.

He checked his surroundings. The fog had thinned. They could see further than soupy paleness into everlasting shadow. Snowflakes from the blizzard had made it down here, too. They slickened the soles of his boots, making the leather glisten.

Yet, the level of snow was off. It was thick, hard, and compact. When Lucio lifted his foot to make a step, the snow held him down with a sticky texture.

Mouth twisting irritably, Lucio grumbled, “That is going to stick to my boots for days.” Immediately, he set to cleaning his heels by knocking them against a nearby wall. He was about to make another comment when bright red caught his eyes.

Slowly, he looked down. Lucio swallowed hard. What he expected to be powder white was stained crimson. It clung onto him accusingly, refusing to be washed off by the wet snow.

As if on reflex, he looked at Morand. The magician’s lips were parted, worry creased a line between her thick, dark brows. Lucio rushedly spoke, “Let’s not stick around. You said you saw steps back up, right?”

She nodded. With her runes lighting the way, she guided him across jutting stone and more stained snow. “They should be around here… Somewhere…” she muttered more to herself than him.

He laid his palms on the pitch stone to help her search. Trailing his right hand across the scratchy wall, he hissed at a sudden sound.

It called, “You’ll never make it out of here alive, old man.”

Whirling in place, Lucio conjured up the sword this magical realm provided to him. He gripped the hilt firmly. His feet immediately set into a stance that had been ingrained since childhood.

“Who said that? Who’re you calling old?”

Laughter cruel and confident reverberated off every rock, stone, and crag in this chasm. It reminded him of the arrogance he’d flaunted in his youth. It was a sound far too similar to the voice he used when he was seconds away from the killing strike, the final task before he and his mercenaries would be paid.

Again, it flowed through the wide fissure. “You’re worthless. You can’t even find your way out.”

Irritation bubbled under Lucio’s skin. He couldn’t help but stalk closer to the approaching sound. No one called him worthless. No one insulted him and got away with it. He snapped, “Coward! Show yourself and say that to my face!”

“Ha! If you insist. It’s your funeral.” With a gait bearing confidence and swagger, a blonde haired man emerged from the dark void of the chasm. A single, golden pauldron was strapped over his left shoulder. His armor was made up of leather and fabric.

The image before him closed up Lucio’s throat. His mouth went dry. Swallowing on nothing but his own shock, Lucio stared into the eyes of his younger self.

Grey irises glared back at him. After spitting into the snow at Lucio’s feet, his doppleganger sneered, “How pathetic. Just look at yourself.”

Words wouldn’t form. He had no sarcastic retort balanced on his quick tongue. Morand saved him the embarrassment of floundering by smarting, “And who the hell are you?”

A cruel laugh bounced off the walls around them. The doppelganger directed his sword in a lazy sweep towards the Count. With a smile that tavern wenches used to beg for, the younger Lucio snickered, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m the better man. Just look at that washed-up has-been, following his betters around like a kicked dog.”

To Lucio’s surprise, Morand actually defended him. She snarled back, “Oh, shut up. You’re nothing but an imposter.”

Eyes made a slow sweep from Morand’s delicate feet, lingered on her curves and then settled on her slightly slanted eyes. “Hmm. Seems like there’s a little fight in you. I’d like to see what you’re made of.” He paused to sneer at the Count. “That is… after I dispose of this old man, of course.”

And just like that Lucio could speak again. He placed a defensive foot between Morand and the slowly circling doppelganger. To his imposter, he spoke, “As if I’d make it easy for you.”

Yes, he could speak again, but that didn’t mean his brow wasn’t sweating. Or that he had any confidence behind his words. Truly, how long had it been since Lucio had faced off in a fight against another man?

It had been ten years, likely more. He darted a look from Morand to the doppelganger. If he couldn’t defend her now, defend her against himself, then what kind of man was he?

Undaunted, the younger Lucio laughed. He examined his reflection in the blade. It was a face clean of smile lines. It was a body that bore fewer scars than Lucio did today.

The young Lucio spoke, “Aw, lost your nerve, old man? Don’t worry. I’ll make this quick. Like taking a lame horse to slaughter.”

Fingers white knuckled across the leather hilt of his sword, and he instantly drew it into a fighting stance. “Do you want to talk or fight, kid?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He stalked closer towards his doppelganger, and Morand barked from the sidelines, “Lucio, wait! Are you serious? Just think for a second. This could be a trick, an illusion—”

Pausing, he brushed hair out of his face. “No one insults me and gets away with it, Morand. Not even me.”

She clenched her forehead with the fingertips of each hand. “That doesn’t even make any sense—”

Her words disappeared behind him when the doppelganger rushed forward. Immediately, Lucio brought his blade up to block the strike. Metal scraped together, ringing loudly in his ears.

When the younger version of himself struck again, all Lucio could do was raise in another block or dodge. Right as the Count grunted beneath the weight of a strike that nearly shattered his footing, the doppelganger snickered, “You’re weak.”

Lucio stomped his foot hard against the stone floor to regain his stance, but the doppelganger had another attack at the ready. His strike had merely been a diversion, creating an opening so that he could rear back.

In a blow that made him see stars, the Count took a sword pommel to the chin. The harsh tang of blood filled his mouth. It stained his teeth a scarlet red.

As Lucio recovered, his doppelganger charged back in. The sword came down from above, and Lucio had to brace the flat side of his broadsword with a palm. His arms shook from the strain of his deflection.

Spittle slung across his face as the doppelganger berated him more. “How the hell did you lose your own arm? You’ve become such an idiot!”

Face red, Lucio sent all of his weight surging through his upper body. It forced his enemy off of him, and he panted. In a rush of breath, he yelled, “Shut your mouth! This arm is golden.”

In the nearness, he slung his arm outwards. The back of his fist collided with his doppelganger. His gauntlet dug into skin, slashing into the mouth of his younger self.

Legs wobbly from the assault, the doppelganger spat blood. His injury was identical to the one the Count sported. As he swiped the liquid from his lips, his laughter became maniacal. “Ha! Not bad, old man. Not bad!”

He savored the taste of blood on his mouth by licking it with a stained tongue. “Not that it matters. You’re just meat. Like everyone else I’ve ever killed!” Darting forward, he drew his arms backwards for a large swing. His yell was nothing short of insane when he roared, “I’ll cut you open and grind your bones to powder!”

When their swords hit, Lucio gaped at the various knicks in his blade. His doppelganger was just toying with him, trying to break the Count’s weapon so that he could make him an easy kill.

Using nothing but his natural strength, the younger Lucio pushed forward. He was backing Lucio against the wall. Beneath the flowing sleeves of his white shirt, the doppelganger’s arms were sweaty. It made the material cling to the shape of his muscles.

His biceps bulged under another hard shove. “Just give up and die. You died once already. You should be used to losing by now.” Though his teeth ground, he shook his head with a blase attitude. “Look at you now. Not even alive. Nothing but a shadow of someone better.”

Sweat poured down the Count’s face. Memories of the things he’d done as a condottiero for the old Vesuvian Count bubbled up. He could hear screams weighing down his mind. Oppressive darkness lingered in his subconscious.

No! He had forced those horrors back. He had killed because he was ordered to, because doing so would grant him more titles. He’d wanted renown, prestige. His orders had gotten him that. The Count of Vesuvia had handed him the title because of his successes, not his atrocities.

Memories and regrets laid down heavily. He was slowly losing himself to the past when he heard the crackle of electricity. He smelt the burning of magical fire.

Magic. Electricity. Lucio’s eyes opened wide, and he jerked his head towards Morand. She was gathering energy in her palms.

Frantically, he shook his head at her. No! He could protect her. He could protect himself. No one had to save him! He would save them both!

Talking through his teeth, he was forced to growl at her. “Stay back, Morand! I’ve got this!” His doppelganger pulled back, and Lucio wheezed in a short breath only to lose it again.

All he was doing was deflecting, dodging, but there was something more. If he could just get the opening he wanted, he could end this fight in a few short strikes. Determination made his eyes go cold, they focused on the edge to edge attacks that his doppelganger was using.

No true swordsman fought like that. It dulled the blade, weakened it with a steady assault of a thousand metal chips. Morand must have recognized that he was working out a strategy.

The light of her magic faded. Smoke curled where flames and bolts had danced. Though worry was etched into every line of her face, she called, “Okay. You got this, Lucio. I believe in you!”

_ Believe in me? _ He blinked despite himself. Those were words he rarely heard, even less when someone had known him for as long as Morand had.

Pride made itself known when the doppelganger laughed at Lucio’s magician. “Believe in what? Failure? Weakness?”

There! There was the opening he’d been looking for. Sliding his blade out of the way, he slammed the front of his skull into his younger self. “Experience!” Lucio snarled back.

“You son of a—”

With a mock grin, Lucio danced out of the way of an incoming punch. His head was tilted backwards when he laughed, “Hey, now. We have the same mother! We’re…” His words slowed on a chilling thought. Quiter, he added, “We’re the same.”

The words conjured a fury in the other man. He thrust the tip of his blade towards Lucio’s ribs, but the Count had been expecting it. Strike after strike, he continued to bob and dodge.

“Coward! Stop pretending to fight me and fight me!”

His younger self was working himself into a frenzy just to keep up the attack. Moving in careful circles, Lucio thought back to something far deeper than his time as a condottiero. He remembered the training he’d gotten from his mother.

Too many times had she done just this to him. She would stroll around the battlefield as Lucio charged at her, a lurching beast in the face of a much larger predator. She had tried to teach him, but he hadn’t wanted to learn.

Biting back the shame that brought him, Lucio replied, “No.”

His doppelganger dripped sweat. Still on the offensive, he railed, “No? No?!” Screaming at the Count, he lunged with blade ready for a final strike.

Lucio saw it coming before his younger self had even come up with the idea. Casually sidestepping the blade, Lucio watched his doppelganger ram himself blade forward into the wall. His body sprawled onto the red snow, a panting figure of distress.

Though the Count was breathing hard, it was nothing compared to his enemy. With two hands on the hilt of his sword, Lucio drove it into the heart of his younger self. When he pulled it back, blood shot from the wound. It rushed with the same power as an unstoppered champagne bottle.

Then, in a flurry of blood and snow, his doppelganger disappeared.

Unable to stand his own weight, Lucio crumpled to the floor. What should have been cold and hard barely registered in his senses. All he could think about was catching his next few breaths.

When the sunlight rained down on Lucio’s hair, it highlighted the locks in a halo of gold. He looked like a man who had been washed clean of sin, like someone who had a pleasant future in store. Awestruck, Morand wasn’t sure whether she should let him bask or make sure he was okay.

Thankfully, the image was soon broken. Opening one eye, he flaunted his pearly whites. “Fighting my younger self,” he panted. “That’s… making my head hurt.”

He closed both eyes hard then used his sword as a crutch to stand. It made for a poor assist. When it nearly clattered back down, Morand was already at his side. She tucked her smaller body beneath his larger one. Still, he muttered, “I don’t wanna think about it too hard.”

When Lucio’s dominant hand released the weapon, it faded from view. His hands came up towards his face, and he studied the way they were shaking. Morand quickly covered them with her own.

“Lucio, you’re obviously still thinking about it.”

For a moment, he paused. His lips pursed into a tight frown. “I just fought  _ me _ . Or… something that looked like me.” His entire face fell. “I just tried to kill…  _ me _ .” Jerkily, he faced her, nearly knocking her loose in his attempt to look her in the eye. “That’s messed up. Isn’t it?!”

After she braced him against the chasm wall, he slid down to a sit. Shivering fingertips ran through his hair. It was thickened with sweat, and his terrified eyes searched Morand’s face for an answer.

Gingerly, she swiped a trail of sweat off his nose before it could fall onto his parted lips. Like him, she didn’t have any answers. Her mind was a ball of confusion wrapped tightly in a cocoon of concern for him.

Cradling his face in two hands, she stated, “It  _ is  _ messed up.”

“Yeah, and now I’m all… jumbled up.” He leaned his head against the wall and groaned. “Ugh! Fighting and winning always felt good before. I like it. I’m good at it, but not… Not this time.”

As if seeking comfort, Lucio grabbed Morand’s hand. He put it right back on his face when she tried to pull away. Then, he stared up at the sun. It was far above their heads, raining down on them like a foreshadowing of good omens.

“Whatever. He’s gone. I’m still here. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Morand bit down on the inside of her lip. He was trying to convince himself. Morga’s words from before suddenly felt like a warning. _ I knew a day would come when no one could save him from his own delusions.  _ Those had been some of the first words the woman had ever said about Lucio. Morand was determined that they wouldn’t remain the only thoughts she had about her son.

Frowning at exactly how she was going to do just that, Morand followed the Count’s eyes to the sky. It was time to leave.

She tugged lightly on his hand and pulled him away from the shadows swirling behind those confused, grey eyes. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Lucio gaped as if he’d forgotten why they were in this chasm in the first place. He mumbled, “The stairs? Right, yeah. Let’s go.”

Compared to the descent, the climb up seemed much less daunting. It was no time before they reached the top. Sunshine greeted them like a long lost lover, caressing their bodies from top to bottom.

Lucio commented, “Look! The snow’s gone.”

True to his word, the snow was melting into the sand, and when Morand followed the amber terrain into the horizon, she could see…

“Morand! There you are!” Asra called out.

Running headlong towards her master, Morand caught up a few seconds before Lucio did. On reflex, Morand wrapped her arms around her master’s shoulders. “Whew! That was one hell of a hike,” she cried.

Morga eyeballed the melting snow on her son’s boots, and Morand felt the strangest need to cover Lucio from her sight. The warrior’s tone was skeptical. She asked, “Montag, what trouble did you get into this time?”

Under the stern shadow of his mother, Lucio looked like a scolded child. “Uh.”

Determined to keep her from ruining Lucio’s good progress, Morand bopped over to the Count’s side. She shrugged and replied, “No serious trouble.”

The look Morga gave the apprentice was long and piercing. Just when Morand was sure she would ask more, Morga changed the subject. “Aisha believes the familiars are not far away.”

The mentioned woman intoned, “And it will be much easier going without all the snow.” She smiled at Lucio. “I’m glad it cleared up.”

Awkwardly, he tried to smile back. “Yeah, uh. That snow sure was inconvenient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Before you go, I do want to add that I'm gonna try to draw Morand/Moren's tattoos (Goddess preserve me), so if anyone has some cool full body tattoo references that look like script, henna tattoos, runes, and other stuff that they'd like to share, please, do so. Tattoos are so purty. I love 'em.


	14. Remember

**Remember**

It didn’t take long before tension resumed between Lucio and Asra. With nothing but twin snarls at each other, the men chose to distance themselves. Thanks to that, Morand was left somewhere in the middle, buffering two irritated males.

She stood with Asra on her right and Lucio on her left. The Count was walking with his chin up in the air, arms crossed over his broad chest. As for her master, Asra kept shifting his eyes towards Morand.

He looked as if he was checking for injury, signs of stress. The expression in his eyes was… hopeful? Morand frowned. Did Asra want his apprentice to be annoyed by Lucio, to give him up like an untrainable puppy?

After a few moments of silence, Asra made a gradual stroll to Morand’s side. He gave her a soothing smile. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

Suspicions placed neatly into the back corner of her mind, the apprentice grinned. “What? Think I couldn’t handle one sassy boy and a dark, looming chasm?” She tilted her nose up at him. “Hmph. You wound me, Asra.”

His grin turned into a full scale smirk. “Of course not, but you know I’ll always worry about you.”

Morand’s eyes moved towards Lucio. He hadn’t noticed Asra talking to her. Instead, he had his eyes on the horizon. His gaze was thoughtful as if he was recounting something very important to him.

Asra must have noticed the glance because he exhaled softly. “You’ve gotten close.”

“Well, when a man is spiritually ball and chain locked to you, you kinda have to get to know him,” Morand laughed. She and Lucio had been at each other’s side from the second she’d walked into his wing. Then, she thought for a short second.

No, they’d been together before that. She had dreamed of his figure back when she’d been at the shop alone. When Asra would be on his journeys, Lucio’s spectre had haunted her. Only, at that time, she hadn’t known it was the Count calling for her.

Yet, there was _still_ something familiar to her. It was a sense that maybe they had met even before her memories had been wiped clean. Morand wondered if they’d been friends at that time. She doubted it. Lucio had been more of an ass then than he was now. But then, where did her boundless patience for him come from?

Asra’s dark look distracted Morand. He spoke, “I don’t think I can ever trust Lucio.”

She shrugged. “I don’t blame you. He trapped your parents. He let the Devil get his clutches on them, driving them to a point of desperation.” She slowed down to face her master fully. “Asra, I’d never ask you to forgive someone who hurt you like that. Even more, I’d never say you should forget it. But, could you try to see him for what he’s becoming? He doesn’t want people to hate him.”

Asra’s eyes shut. When they reopened, he was looking thoughtfully towards the way wind was sweeping up little tornados of sand. “I can’t agree to that.”

Sad smile on her lips, Morand put a hand on her master’s shoulder. She leaned in to kiss the side of his face like she had a million times before. Pulling back from him, the apprentice replied, “I know. Just thought I’d ask.”

* * *

Morand had just… kissed Asra? Right in front of him. With not even more than a few feet between them.

Lucio rubbed his chest where a sharp pain seemed to strike him from the inside. It was jealousy. He was well enough versed in such a feeling that even a hint of it was apparent to him.

Yanking his attention towards the changing scenery around him, he watched as the desert slowly shifted to a volcanic spring. Morand and Asra were translucent in between wafts of heavy steam.

It threatened to separate everyone. Only the eagle guiding from above helped Lucio stay with everyone else.

Every time the two magicians’ bodies disappeared behind condensation, he wondered what it meant. Was he that interchangeable to Asra? The kiss he’d seen was chaste enough, nothing like the frenzied passion Lucio experienced whenever he came into contact with Morand’s plush lips.

It was as if insanity took hold of him. When he was with Morand, all he could think about was touching every inch available to him. Whether it be chaotic passion or a slow burning kiss, he didn’t want to be pulled from her. Would kill anything that tried to separate their interludes.

But, maybe, she liked things that way? A true love affair with the man she lived with then a few hot and heavy tumbles from Lucio. He gritted his teeth. Before, that would have been enough for him. Now, though… He wasn’t sure.

The Count kicked a loose stone into a nearby hot spring. It sank down with a few bubbles of defiance. If this was what love felt like, he didn’t think he wanted it. Over and over again, doubt circled his mind much like how Jæger stalked his prey.

Lucio had come to a decision when Morand had proclaimed to like him. He’d made a mental vow to secure her happiness at whatever cost. But, what if that happiness meant he’d be playing second fiddle to Asra?

The idea made him nauseous.

As he pondered, the backdrop they walked changed again. Leaves crunched underfoot and stones became overgrown with moss. Large pine trees rose to the heavens. Then, it changed a third time.

Morga and Aisha led them towards the mouth of a dank cave. Hot, dry air blasted from its maw like the rank breath of a gigantic beast. Towards the cave, Lucio’s mother scowled. She adjusted her grip on her spear, readying for anything to come.

Into the depths, she growled, “This place reeks of foul magic.”

Aisha explained, “It’s the Devil’s own magic. By keeping our familiar’s chained…”

When she faded out, Salim continued, “He holds us in bondage and grows stronger for each soul he traps.”

Reflexively, Lucio looked at Morand. His and her capture was his worst nightmare. The apprentice was the only one here who didn’t consider him an absolute bastard. If the Devil got his hands on her, how much more powerful would he become?

Brave faced, Lucio traipsed inside. He spoke, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

The telltale reek of wicked magic oozed in this place. It was accompanied by the rattling of chains. Both observations made Lucio’s skin crawl. He muttered, “Oh, that’s a bad sound.”

Morand came to his side. Though she’d been walking alongside her master, she put a reassuring hand between Lucio’s shoulder blades. Despite all of his doubts, that touch did as intended. The Count felt stronger at her side. For some reason, he believed that he always would. Now, all he had to do was solidify her position _with him._

Reinforced by her, Lucio led them towards a tall, narrow chamber. Within the center of it was a stone prison. Hot chains curled around it, guarding as they sizzled and writhed. Between the twisting links of metal, Lucio could see two serpents.

Their bodies were coiled together. Their eyes glowed in this dark place.

Bypassing the Count and Morand, Aisha moved forward. “Chimes! Flamel!” she exclaimed. When she rushed nearer, the chains lashed at her. They forced her back with reluctant steps.

Morga was unimpressed. She snickered, “Ha! This again?”

In a magic Lucio hadn’t seen in so many years, his mother’s eyes changed to brilliant gold. He was well-associated with that magic. Time and time again, his mother had used it to find him, hunt him down, and haul him kicking and screaming back to their village.

Now, though, she pulled her spear into a direction that wasn’t his chest. She aimed it at the multitude of chains covering the serpents’ prison. Confidently, she threw her spear out.

Six chains shot forward. They moved to intercept the decorated blade heading for them. Upon the initial strike, a few links actually broke, but the success was short lived. More lengths twisted around her weapon, reducing it to nothing but a pointed stick on the ground.

Surprised, Lucio grumbled, “It didn’t work.”

Asra glowered. “Thanks for stating the obvious. Got another plan?” His question was directed to everyone but the Count.

Ignoring the blatant rudeness. Lucio couldn’t help but respond, “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Asra turned to Morand, and Lucio’s scowl deepend. Asra didn’t need to look at his apprentice with such a trusting expression, as if Morand would solve all of _his_ problems. “Morand? Do you have any ideas?”

Two pairs of inquisitive eyes laid upon her speculative form. When she raised a hand up to her mouth in thought, the men awaited her response patiently. In time, she mused, “I…”

Suddenly, the crack of skin against skin rang in the air. Hitting his palm to his forehead, Lucio blurted, “You, Morand! That’s it!” How the hells had Lucio forgotten?

Asra raised a white brow. “What’s _it_?”

Lucio waved the magician out of the way to walk towards the apprentice. With the glee of a child, he explained, “Morand, you could break the Devil’s chains, remember? You just have to do it again!”

Nervously, she eyeballed the prison. It was little more than a ball of magically imbued chain and stone. Thick lashes cast shadows on her face when she mumbled, “Lucio, that’s _a lot_ of chains.”

He winked at her. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll help you. We’ve got this.”

Without hesitation, he dashed right for the chains. They surged for him, and Lucio continued onwards. Quickly, he dodged the first lash. Then, he reached out to snag the second and third.

From the back of his mind, Lucio heard the others.

Asra was screaming, “What is that idiot doing?!”

Unlike him, Morand didn’t waste time. The Count watched her proudly when she ran to join him. He knew that she’d figure it out, too. He had confidence that she would follow his lead.

“Let me handle this!” she yelled back to Asra.

With his left hand clutching the chains, Lucio could feel the full power of what he was dealing with. Scalding metal singed his gauntlet. It caused sparks of crimson and yellow to flash around him.

More than that, he could see the heat. It danced in the air, making his vision hazy. Sweat ran across his face.

“Augh!” he hissed. “Okay, that kinda stings!”

His commentary didn’t last before more chains removed their coils from the prison. With his metal hand full, Lucio was forced to use his right hand. The second his palm wrapped around the links, he could feel his flesh burning away. Blood flow was being cauterized the second it happened.

Cursing aloud, Lucio shut one eye from the agony of it all. He was being driven to his knees. Every second that he held the chains, they slung and fought him. His hands were being jerked around. His arms were being burned in new places with each strike.

“Morand, whatever you did earlier. Do it now!” he shouted, having to snap his teeth shut before he could reveal even more weakness to this band of people.

The apprentice didn’t let any fear show in her face. She was an angel of vengeance when her body lit up in those strange symbols. One by one they activated in a domino effect across her body.

What was normally a wash of brilliant fuschia split apart into a rainbow of color around her. She glowed like a creature descending from above, her body lifting to hover a few inches above the rocky floor. Awestruck, Lucio could only stare.

When an unruly chain interrupted his fascination, he snarled at it. “Stay put, you stupid things!”

They paid his commands no attention, and the closer Morand got, the more they tried to flee her approach. Refusing to let go, Lucio strained every muscle in his body. His teeth clamped so hard he could hear them grinding against each other. Then, finally there was contact.

The moment Morand’s glowing hands touched the chains, they splintered. Fragments of metal went flying. They zoomed past his hair. They slung around her, but none of them touched either one of them. As if they were terrified of even a centimeter touching the being that had shred them.

Within the cavern, a deafening roar boomed. Lucio had just enough time to see Morand’s skin turn dull before he lunged for her. Her eyes were utterly blank, and she went limp in his arms.

Eyes rounding, Lucio clutched her tightly. _Oh, fuck. Oh, no! What the hell had he done?!_

His thoughts were echoed in the cavern, and Lucio was shoved away from the apprentice. When he could focus again, he saw Asra clutching him by the collar of his vest. The magician repeated, “What the hell did you do?!”

Jerking away, Lucio wasted no time in swinging. His fist cracked against Asra’s face, but the magician recovered. Arms wrapped around Lucio’s waist. Then, the magician was on top of him. Asra pummeled his fists into Lucio’s face.

“You idiot, you could have _killed_ her! Do you even think of other people?” Asra howled.

Lucio’s lips pulled back in an ugly snarl. Raising his knee, he shoved it into Asra’s gut. The momentum was exactly what he needed to get on top of the magician. Once there, he pinned him.

He was about to headbutt the other man when strong, callused hands pulled him backwards. Lucio was thrown flat on his ass by his mother. In front of him, Asra was being drug away by Aisha and Salim.

“Now, is not the time for your antics, boy!” Morga shouted at her son. When she threw him backwards, he landed beside Morand. The apprentice didn’t react, was as still as death.

Suddenly, concern for her overrode his rage at Asra, and he scooped Morand into his arms. Wrapping her tightly against him, Lucio turned back to the magician. “She’s stronger than you think! Morand won’t stay down long, so back off!”

In front of his parents, Asra paced. He shook his head, fists quaking below his hips. “You have no idea what using that kind of magic will do to her! You don’t even know anything about what she just did.”

“Oh, and you do?”

To his surprise, his statement stalled Asra. The magician gave him one slow, lingering look that went from Morand to Lucio then back to Morand before he exhaled. The noise was loud in the sudden silence of the cave.

Asra’s pacing reverberated against the walls. With two hands pulling back his normally fluffy hair, the magician growled, “Why do you always have to be so reckless? Morand, she… She really could’ve been killed with that stunt!”

Lucio smoothed sweaty hair off the woman in question. Eyes still on Asra, he snarled back, “I didn’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

“That’s not the point! She passed out! Are you even worried about her?”

Worried about her? Of course, he was worried about her. Just whose arms did Asra see his apprentice in? They damned sure weren’t his. Granted, Lucio thought he’d rip the master magician to pieces if he came closer but still… She was with _him_. Not Asra.

Abrupt movement had Lucio peering downwards and a grin stretched from one ear to the other. His magician was alive and well, albeit a little worn out, but she was fine. Lucio had his mouth open to welcome her back to the real word when Asra spoke over him.

The magician was on one knee beside her head. Looking at her tired face, he said, “Morand? Oh, thank goodness.”

Treating Asra like statuary, Lucio directed all of his attention to Morand. “Stay still. You were out cold for a few minutes.”

“Minutes?” she muttered. Groggily, her eyes looked around the room. She took note of everyone nearby as if doing a mental headcount. “Did it… did it work?”

Shoving a thumb over his shoulder, Lucio gestured at the prison. It sat empty and cold. The chains were completely gone, and the familiars weren’t anywhere close to it. Smile wide, the Count proclaimed, “It worked. You did it. We did it.”

Rudely, Asra tagged, “And then you fainted. Whatever you did, Morand, you expended a great deal of magic.”

Psht. Magic. Shmagic. What the apprentice did was give everyone involved a chance to get out of here. His Morand was nothing short of amazing.

Rolling his eyes, Lucio commented, “Listen to this worrywart. I knew you had it in the bag.” He flashed a wink then softened his look. Hand petting the side of her face, he added, “Still, I’m glad you’re okay.”

Unable to stop himself, he leaned down to brush his lips over her forehead. It was still chilled from her faint. When her skin flushed beneath his mouth, he grinned. _Take that, Assra._

He must have taken the hint because he cleared his throat. When Lucio pulled back, he smirked in satisfaction. The magician had stood up like his feet were aflame. Lucio watched Asra stalk towards the cave exit.

Not looking at them, the magician mentioned, “You… might want to rest for a bit. Just to be safe.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder, making sure not to look Lucio in the face. “I’ll wait outside with everyone else.”

_Good riddance,_ Lucio’s mind chimed. The second her master was out of view, the Count adjusted the woman in his arms. She was warming up now. Her eyes were heavy lidded and glassy.

Weaving fingers through her curls, Lucio mentioned, “You do look pretty worn out. We can stay a bit longer if you want.” _Please, want._ “I think you deserve to be spoiled a little after being such a big damn hero.”

When she did nothing other than blink up at him, he sidled in closer. Mouth on her neck, he nipped the skin there. She was sweaty from her victory. The salt of her sweat was a flavor he wanted to savor. Also, he couldn’t stop smiling. She was okay.

True to form, Morand leaned back in his arms. She had her eyes closed when she replied, “Sure. Spoil me.”

Snickering on her collarbone, Lucio gave her another kiss. “Thought you’d never ask. Now, keep your eyes closed and relax.”

When she sat up, he scooted back to lay his hands on her shoulders. He knew she’d acquiesced the moment she slumped to give him access to anything he wanted. Hands slid across her smooth skin, but before he began his spoiling, he asked, “You took a spill when you fainted. Does anything hurt?”

She stretched, showing off her strong arms and abdomen. “No pain, but my neck’s a little stiff.”

Setting right to work, Lucio gathered up the mass of Morand’s deep purple locks to lay them over one shoulder. From this view, he could see the tattoo of an arrowhead resting right at the base of her spine. The shaft of the arrow was a foreign language that was somewhat familiar to him. It flowed downwards before turning into the flights of an arrow.

With his thumbs starting at the arrow’s head, he began to press down into her neck. True to form, her muscles were stiff. They were nothing but strong cords refusing to give against his pressing.

Nonetheless, he was a reliable sort of guy. Up and down, he moved the tips of his thumbs, yet he couldn’t stifle a wince when he pressed one of his burns a little too hard.

Immediately, Morand shot tight. She twisted around to scowl at him. “Are you okay?”

Turning his wince into a pained grin, Lucio gave her a coy look. “Aw, Morand. Don’t worry about me. I’m supposed to be spoiling you. Remember?”

She sighed, “Lucio…”

Blowing hot air through his lips, he showed her his palms. They were worse than he’d thought. Angry, red welts were growing on his hand. In the palm of his prosthetic, the metal was scored a blackish brown.

She tsked at him, and Lucio found himself avoiding her eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she grumbled.

Studying the rough stone they sat atop, he muttered, “I… you were really impressive back there. You didn’t see it, but there was this bright light all around you when you broke the chains.” He shook his head and smiled. “You looked incredible, like some invincible angel rushing in to save the day, but when you fainted, I…” _Lost my mind? Might have punched your master in the face? Oopsie._

The Count nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment. “I just wanted to do something nice for you? Without you worrying about me.”

When he could finally meet her eyes, they were soft. In the dim light of the cave, they seemed to glitter. Slowly, he was starting to understand those soft looks. If Lucio was a confident man, he’d say they were filled with love, understanding, and other pleasant nonsense that he realized he was starved for.

If the nonsense came from someone he loved, then maybe it wasn’t so trivial after all? He gulped. Did he love her?

To his face, she growled, “I appreciate it, but you should tell me if you’re hurt.”

“All right. All right, if you insist.”

He flexed his fingers and regarded their stiffness. Oh, yeah. They definitely hurt.

Collecting his hands, she whispered in her foreign language. Flesh mended itself one piece after another. She was thorough in her examination.

The magician slid her hands up his arms, into his sleeves. A collar of runes around her throat glowed when she spoke. _“Ni’arache, guedon et sollen Lora’schor.”_

“What does that mean?”

Never opening her eyes, she explained, “Ni’arache, leader of the Forsaken Ones, guide this man’s soul to the Heavens” Morand’s eyes popped open.

Rearing back, she touched her black nails to her lips. “That’s… that’s the first time I’ve known what the words meant…”

When her eyes got glossy on some memory, Lucio wasn’t sure how to react. So, he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled her into him.

Arms tight around her shoulders, he laid his chin in the bend of her neck. “Do you know what that means?” he wondered. She made a little noise in the back of her throat. It sounded vaguely like a no, so he added, “You remembered something.”

Her hands came up to cradle the back of his head. When he opened one eye to look at her, her lashes had laid atop her cheekbones. A little trail of tears was dampening the skin under the eye he could see.

“You’re wonderful,” she whispered.

“I know. _Now_ , can I go back to spoiling you?”

After she nodded, he kissed her skin and got back to work. She was warm underneath him. He was careful not to touch the sharp claws of his gauntlet against her decorated body. No one should harm his painted witch, not even himself.

Beneath his hands, she purred, “Mmm. That’s nice.” Her neck grew lax, and she let her head fall backwards.

Encouraged to give the best damned massage this world had seen, Lucio asked, “Should I go harder? Softer?”

“Harder.”

He swallowed. Did she mean to say that word with such a sensual rasp? She responded to all of his touches so well. Her little purs were music to his ears.

Grinning widely, he did as she commanded. “As you wish.”

Once finished with her neck, he twisted his knuckles into the sore spots along her shoulder blades. His touch was mixed with deep presses of his thumbs interchanged with light scratches of his fingernails and claws.

To his delight, she let out a soft groan. The sound rolled from her throat, onto her full lips, and finally settled in his groin. Holding back his own answering growl, he snickered, “Oh, I like that sound. I want to hear that again sometime.”

“Keep up the good work, and you might get lucky.”

Teeth took purchase on his bottom lip. Count Lucio could get used to this banter. The two of them batted words at each other like a game. Never had he been given the chance for such good conversation.

With her, he wasn’t angling for anything more than her presence. He didn’t need her money. He didn’t want her prestige. Yes, she was his ticket to a new body, but he didn’t want their contract to end there.

Suddenly, he let out a soft sigh. “When I’m Count again, I’m going to spoil you rotten. That’s the best part of being important. Delicious food, expensive wine, fine furs.” He leaned over to get a better look at her sated expression. “You’ll love it, too. I promise. Anything you want, anything you need. I’ll snap my fingers, and you’ll have it. We could find the finest masseuse in Vesuvia to take care of you.”

To that, she shook her head. Her nimble fingertips grabbed his collar, and Lucio found himself pulled towards Morand’s face. Their lips were so close that only air could come between them. With a look that made his body run hot, she purred, “I don’t mind leaving the massages to you.”

His tongue swept across his lips, wetting them in preparation for her touch. Lids at half mast, he hummed, “Heh. Neither do I.”

On her next breath, his hair fluttered around his cheekbones. Their lips brushed each other with nothing more than a feather light graze. Eyes on her mouth, Lucio mentioned, “I like seeing you like this. All relaxed and happy.”

“You make me sound like a beloved pet.”

He winked. “Only if that means I can collar and keep you.”

Letting those words settle in her mind, Lucio helped his witch to her feet. His grey eyes roved for any signs of discomfort, twinges of pain, but his woman was a trooper. She stood right up, barely needing him for anything more than a lift to her feet.

A little insecure, he asked, “Is… was that good? Are you okay now?”

She kissed his hand as if she were about to ask him for a dance. “I feel great. Thank you.”

At her praise, his heart swelled. Again, he winked at her. Again, his grin was utter confidence. “You’re welcome. There’s more where that came from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was curious on the language I used, it's actually from the fantasy novel I've been writing. In that tale, Morand/Moren is the offspring of a mortal woman turned goddess and the God of Insanity and Imbibement. To pronounce what I wrote ("Ni’arache, guedon et sollen Lora’schor."), you say Nee-ah-rah-kee guh-way-dun et so-len lo-ra-shh-cor.


	15. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, all you lovely fan fiction reader type people. I'm back with an update. Also, I did as I swore to myself and starting working on sketching Morand/Moren's tattoos. I have about... 25% of them done on my front side sketch of Morand, so I'd say I'm about 5% finished in total. Sleeve tattoos based on original work takes time, my dudes. More than that, I have the image at the bottom of the doc.
> 
> [WARNING] Naked lady ahead. Proceed with caution. #Nippleskilledmyfamily

**Memory**

An evening glow rested high in the clouds when Morand and Lucio emerged from the cave. She grinned at the heartfelt reunion between Asra’s parents and their familiars. The snakes were coiled around their masters, pleasantly flicking their forked tongues.

Next, her focus slid towards Asra and Morga. Her master was much more relaxed, looking over Morand’s form to make absolutely certain she was okay. As for Morga, her shoulders weren’t so stiff. Even her angular face seemed a little less sharp in the dusky glow.

Lucio called out, “So… we’re all good? We can leave now?”

Looking up from her colorful serpent, Aisha spoke, “Yes.”

She stretched out her brown hand, and her husband immediately fell into step with her. Powerful magic rippled at the joining, two talented magicians made stronger by emotional bonds. Morand couldn’t stop her sigh.

She was a romantic down to the marrow of her bones. Perhaps, it was foolish for someone like her to daydream about love, but she often did. In her imagination, her lover never had a face.

They were a black silhouette that held her hand and stayed by her side in her moments of fear. Gradually, though, that image was getting replaced. The figure was a little bit shorter now, might have a small obsession with fashion?

Unconsciously, she realized that she was staring at the toes of a pair of designer boots, and she turned hot pink. Oh, boy. This crush was so not going to end well.

On the bright side, Aisha and Salim had recreated the golden doorway with their held hands. It materialized not far from where they stood. This time, when Asra turned to Lucio, he wasn’t half as irritable as he normally was.

He warned, “When we get back to Vesuvia, you’ll be a ghost again.”

The Count stretched his arms overhead as if he was about to lay down for the night. “Honestly? I don’t even care. I just want to go home.”

“Hmm. Never thought I’d agree with you.”

One by one, they all walked through the gateway. This time, the destination was one they could all enjoy, Vesuvia.

The very minute they stepped through the gateway, Nadia was waiting for them. She was a regal tornado as she swept everyone up and into the Palace salon. Truly, the Countess was an amazing woman.

She took the newcomers in stride. She didn’t bat an eyelash at the recovery of Lucio, and she had snacks delivered to them like it was just another day.

Morand didn’t get it. If she had to wait around for a group of magicians to come back with the ghost of her ex-husband and had found two new people, she’d be bursting with the need to ask questions. Nadia? Not so much.

Sitting with her legs crossed, Morand cradled the side of her head in her hand. Until now, she hadn’t realized just how tired she was. Instead of speaking, she’d passed that task to Asra. While his jaws worked, her eyelids played a game of tag with each other. They opened and shut on her yawns.

At long last, he ended, “… and that’s everything. We came straight back after we freed my parents’ familiars. The magical realms are wondrous, but we were all ready to come home.”

_ Hear, ye. Hear, ye,  _ Morand yawned within her mind.

From her place on a delicate looking settee, Nadia intoned, “I am glad this trip went more smoothly than your previous ones.” Next, she moved her attention to Asra’s parents. She offered them a tray of sculpted cookies.

Salim eyes were hungry. “Are those almond biscuits? Oh, I can’t remember the last time I had sweets!”

He dove in for a few while his wife politely inclined her head. “Thank you for the hospitality, Countess.”

There was a twitching beside her, and Morand shifted one weary eye towards the Count. Her other was shut.

Lucio had been all too eager to stand right beside his new best friend. He was leaned over with his elbows on his knees. Sour faced, he pouted in the direction of the snacks. “I want a cookie,” he grumbled.

Asra made a noncommittal answer, and Morand tilted her head at him. “Hmm?” she answered back.

The magician’s brows drew inwards. “I can hear him now. Very clearly.” Ever the tease, Asra picked up a cookie to wave it at the Count. “Lucio spent long enough in the magical realms to absorb some power. He’s more corporeal now. Maybe… enough to eat a cookie?”

Excited by the prospect, Lucio held out two hands. Asra dropped his offering. Like a strange breeze, the snack dangled in the air for just a moment before crumbling to the ground. A powder dusting of sugar stained the carpet.

Lucio groaned, “Ugh! What is the point of  _ absorbing power _ if I can't have cookies?”

He flopped onto the sofa with a huff. Arms folded across his chest. He threw one leg atop the other.

As he lamented the woes of his cookie-less state, his mother paced the room. She was a hungry tiger, prowling with bared fangs. Abruptly, she barked, “Montag Morgasson.”

_ Oh, hit with the full name. Someone’s in trouble.  _

Morand hid her sleepy grin behind her hand when Morga leveled her spear at a portrait. Upon closer examination, it did kind of look like her. Or, maybe, more like Lucio in drag.

“What is that?” she snarled.

Translucent eyes rolled. The resident ghost responded, “Obviously, it’s you, Mother! Having portraits of the family was all the rage—”

She tore it clean from the wall. Hands tight against the framing, she slung the painting right into the fireplace. Had it not been summer, the picture might have caught flame. For the time being, it crumpled and tore against wrought iron reinforcing.

“MOTHER! That was expensive!” Lucio howled, jumping from his seat in a rush of cool air.

Sly Nadia was barely holding onto her smile. “I never liked that portrait myself.” Then, she turned to Morand.

Under such scrutiny, the apprentice felt her face getting hotter. The Countess was a beautiful woman. Her long, purple hair was much lighter than Morand’s own, and she never had a single thing out of place, down to the folds of her dress.

How Lucio would willingly slum with Morand when a woman like that had once been in his keeping was… nerve-wracking.

Perfectly straight, white teeth showed in a smile. In her clear voice, Nadia spoke, “Morand, when I first asked for your help, I never dreamed you would uncover so many hidden secrets. But now, Lucio and Asra’s parents are free of the Devil’s prison. Doctor Devorak’s name is cleared.” She paused thoughtfully. “All is well, I presume?”

Morand would have loved to say yes to that, but Lucio was squirming around like a worm caught on a fish hook. He had his guilty grin. Were he corporeal, that little vein on the side of his head would have been writhing. She now attributed the sight of it with the Count’s rage or worry.

“Lucio, what’s wrong?” she asked. When he didn’t immediately meet his eyes, her gut sank. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Uh… Well, it might be nothing at all or, uh…”

Nadia’s ringed hands folded in her lap. Like she was bracing for a blow, her face turned stoney.

Pinned beneath her sharp, red gaze, Lucio gave a loud gulp. “I, erm…” One foot jogged up and down.

When he mumbled, he mother commanded, “Out with it, boy.”

On his next breath, he word vomited to the salon floor. “I’m, uh, worried about the Masquerade.”

Nadia raised one manicured brow. “I assure you, I have the planning well in hand. Why, this year’s celebration may be the best—”

“No, no. That’s not what I’m talking about!” Distress radiated off the Count. Morand could feel it through their connection. Anxiety gripped her heart. “I, uh, made some oopies back when I was Count, and they weren’t just bad for me. They were bad for a lot of people.”

His eyes found Asra’s parents across the room then darted away.

Eyes wide, Nadia’s mouth hung slightly ajar. “I truly never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

Lucio looked absolutely guilt stricken. Fretting with his hands, he watched light play on his translucent body. “Well, I’m sick of messing things up. It’s getting pretty old, you know?”

“I quite agree, but what does all this have to do with the Masquerade?”

“There’s something you don’t know about the Masquerade. Something bad.” He toyed with his thumbs. “And, well, I think it was my fault. I’m sorry. Especially to you, Noddy.”

“Go on…”

Inhaling deeply, Lucio’s whole chest rose and fell. He didn’t seem to be doing it intentionally, but he shifted closer to Morand, seeking her support. “Before the last Masquerade, the plague was killing me. I didn’t want to die. I looked for anything that might save me. When I couldn’t find it… I turned to magic. To the Devil.”

The Count looked seconds from running away. Morand couldn’t help herself when she let her magic play along the silver thread of their connection. She let it take form in a comforting brush of her astral hand along his back, an old necromancy trick of moving one’s soul outside of their body.

He stiffened sharply, eyes wide on her, but she didn’t do anything. She was steady eyed, awaiting his explanation. Taking that as a reason to go on, Lucio continued, “We were gonna make a deal for a new body… for me.”

The room went still. Small sounds down to the rustling of clothing could be heard until Morga snarled her lip up. “I knew it,” she reprimanded. “I knew you were consorting with foul powers, boy.”

Unsurprised, Morand adjusted her sore arms on the back of the sofa. She spoke, “You dealt with the Devil? So when we ran into him, and he seemed to know you…”

She gave him a point for meeting her eyes this time. He admitted, “We’d met before, but I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

Slowly, Morand’s eyes shut. She’d had her suspicions, but to hear them straight from Lucio hurt. So many dead and all because he was afraid to die, afraid to pay his tolls. Morand exhaled on the Count’s name.

Immediately, Lucio slumped. He sounded small when he spoke next. His body retreated into itself. “I… should’ve told you sooner, Morand.”

_ Yes, yes, you should have,  _ she mused, but when was he going to bring it up? Were they going to be hiking through the astral planes and him just go right into it all  _ “Hey, Morand, I know we just met, and you’re kinda the only thing keeping me alive right now but let me tell you how I killed a whole bunch of people because I made a deal with an Arcana because I was afraid of dying and having my soul sent to be devoured by his minions? Ha, ha. Funny right, so wanna get a drink after all this is over?” _

No. That was never going to happen.

To keep them on topic, Nadia cleared her throat. “So, you tried to bargain with the Devil for a new body. That clearly failed.”

Lucio hastily laughed, “Yeah, but it’s not that simple. You don’t just go knocking on the Devil’s door. There was this whole magic ritual thing, and it had to happen the night of the Masquerade.”

A frown line deepened between Nadia’s brows. “Why would a Masquerade party be central to a magic ritual? This all sounds distinctly harebrained.”

Lucio threw two arms skyward. “Don’t ask me! I didn’t understand most of the magic stuff, but I know who did.” A ghostly finger was shoved in Asra’s direction. Morand’s master sat in his chair quietly, slightly surprised. The Count raised his voice. “Sure! Do what you always do. Say nothing. Play innocent.”

Asra made a strange look at Morand then his gaze went shuttered. “I never made any claims of innocence.”

Nadia hailed, “Then Lucio speaks the truth.  _ You  _ helped him perform a ritual to contact the Devil?”

“I did.”

Color drained from Morand’s face, replaced by a chill. Asra, of all people, had helped Lucio? Yes, he had the magical power, but he was the one who told her to be careful with this, to not do that. He was always so worried about her memories, her magic, and her well-being. Was it all just to cover up his sins?

This time, when he looked at her, his eyes were haunted. He appeared weary, sad. It was the same face he’d worn when he’d first met Morand, when she had been a shivering man curled up on the cold earth.

Though her mouth was dry, she asked, “Why?”

“I was desperate, too, Morand.”

He left it at that, and Morand felt a little piece of her heart breaking. He wasn’t going to give her an answer. She knew it. He knew it.

He looked away, and his breaths shook. “Unfortunately, I remember very little of the ritual itself. I know I was using the Palace library. I know I needed dangerous and powerful spell components.” His skin flushed. Shamefully, he admitted, “And yet, the memory of the ritual itself… eludes me. It must have been powerful magic to cloud my recollection like that.”

Angrily, Lucio leaned forward in his seat. “What?” he yelped. “After all that, you don’t remember anything?!”

“I guess we have to rely on your stellar memory of events,” Asra snapped back. Then, he cooled his ire. “Think, Lucio. There must’ve been something the Devil wanted in exchange for your new body. We can start there.”

The Count’s face screwed up in concentration, and silence filled the room once more. As they sat, Morand tried not to dwell on Asra’s so called answer. How well did she really know him? Three years they’d lived together, in a shop she’d inherited from her aunt. What if  _ that  _ was a lie? Everything she knew was built upon what Asra said.

He could have led her around by the nose, and she would have been none the wiser. When she thought about just how much Asra had taught her, she tucked a hair behind her ear.

Walking, talking. He’d hand fed her in the first few months… When her dysphoria had gotten bad, he’d seemed pained to teach her about the runes used to change sex. Was it because he’d put the runes on her?

She made a mental note to grill her master later, but for now, she looked at Lucio. He was speaking. “I, uh. I didn’t ask about that.”

Asra almost erupted from his chair. “What?! You were dealing with the Devil, but you didn’t think to ask what he wanted?”

“No one told me I was supposed to ask! In case you forgot, I was busy DYING OF PLAGUE!”

Asra’s groan was as defeated as Morand had ever heard it. He buried his head in his hands. Fingers clutched at the waves of his hair.

Setting down her teacup, Nadia joined his stress. She rubbed a finger into a temple as she nursed an incoming headache. Into the tea, she said, “Then we do not know how this ritual progressed at the previous Masquerade. We do not know what the Devil wished to achieve, and the Devil is still out there, undoubtedly plotting with another Masquerade nearly upon us.”

No one spoke. Only Lucio broke the quiet by nervously chuckling. “When you put it like that, Noddy, it sounds a lot worse.”

While Morand glared, the Countess stood. She looked ready for war. Gazing out a partially opened window, she proclaimed, “Cleary, we must stop the Devil’s plans, whatever they may be. To that end—”

Someone’s stomach rumbled. On cue, eyes searched for the culprit, but no one owned up to the sound. Seeming glad for a break, Nadia spoke, “It seems planning a counter-strategy is hungry work. Let us break for lunch and reconvene in the library.”

While everyone else stood, Morand made no inclination to move. She rubbed sleep from her eyes. Lucio didn’t go, either. He was slumped in a nearby armchair.

Gently, she nudged him with her leg. There was a moment of resistance before she passed harmlessly through. He jumped. “Huh? Oh, lunch. Right.”

Embarrassed, he looked to where everyone was dispersing. “If you’re hungry, we can go, but I can’t eat anything.” Once more, he gazed at the cookie tray.

One arm rose to the air. Its sleeve fell to her shoulder, and Morand glanced about the room. Truth be told, she wasn’t all that hungry herself. She’d eaten a few cookies while Asra had been talking about their adventure. Then, she had drank a cup of tea.

More than that, she didn’t want to be around Asra. His confession had done things to her heart, things that she wasn’t sure she wanted to recognize right now. Instead, she wanted a distraction.

Lucio must have guessed the direction of her thoughts because he asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Something fun.”

“Fun?” He tilted his head at her. “The salon’s just where we entertain fancy, stuffy people. There’s nothing fun in here, except—” His eyes fell on the lovely organ in the corner of the room.

It was hidden beneath an embroidered cover. A golden harp with decorative embellishments sat next to it. To Lucio, she asked, “Do you know how to play?”

His answer was a wide grin. “Not a clue. I’ve only heard Noddy play it. No one else ever touched it.”

Lucio looked from Morand to the organ. His brows waggled on his see-through face. “Then again, maybe, I’m some kind of musical genius, and we never knew.”

Somehow, Morand doubted it. Yet, when he strolled that way, she stepped near. He nudged the cover to the side. His eyes went wide at the multitude of keys on the organ. There were three rows, all awaiting play.

His lips moved in a silent count on the keys. “That’s… a lot. Why are there so many?” He turned to her. “Uh, do you know how to play this thing, Morand?”

She stood next to him and tilted her head this way and that. Strangely enough, she felt like she might have an idea? There was a memory in her head.

It was a memory of travelling across the countryside, going to towns and dancing. She would make her money by dancing atop bars, singing. Perhaps, she played instruments as well?

Scratching at the back of her head, she said, “A little.”

He beamed. “Seriously, is there anything you can’t do?”

The Count leaned down towards the organ bench. His hands grasped for it. After a few tries, he finally got it out then hopped onto one end. Looking up at her, he patted the space beside him.

Morand’s lips curled in the first smile since they’d come back to the city. “You want me to play for you?”

“Of course!” He clasped his hands across his chest. “Pretty please?”

The words brought to mind the last time he’d been so indulgent. That had ended with Morand on her knees. This time, she doubted things would get so heavy.

It was a small relief. She didn’t seem to have much control when it came to touching Lucio. This ghost form of his let her stay level headed with him.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

She took her place beside him and rested her hands on the keys. They were ivory in color and smooth to the touch. They felt familiar to her, like old friends reuniting.

Slowly, she pressed down. It was a rough start. She felt out of practice, yet the more she played, the more her fingers moved. They walked across the rows to the tune of a Vesuvian folk song. Unintentionally, she hummed along.

Lucio leaned to get a better angle and watched her with the side of his face in his hand. “Hey, that sounds familiar.”

“Mmhm. The townsfolk sing it in my neighborhood. Usually in the evening when everyone is heading home.”

As the notes built, her confidence grew with it. She tweaked a few notes, adding her own flair, and suddenly, she was taken back.

* * *

“Drinks after work, Boss Lady?” an older woman with skin as dark as night asked. She held two glasses in her hand. They were well-worn, ceramic, and obviously homemade. Poorly drawn caricatures of animals had been painted on white clay.

_ “Vana,” _ Morand greeted warmly, using a foreign name.

“Good to see you still remember me. How’s the shop been? Where’s your little boy toy?” The woman sat the cups down on the glass counter of Morand’s magical shop. When she did so, a long rodent popped its head out of her shirt.

Upon seeing Morand, the red and white furred stoat leaped to her arm. He settled himself on her shoulders, draped like a well-preserved fur. “He is not my boy toy,” she replied.

Vana only grinned. She leaned against the counter and took a long draw of her brew. “Mmm. Just like your  _ Emta _ . You know you get your taste for whiskey from him.”

“And just where is Dad now?”

The other woman sighed. She turned her wrist up to unveil a long sleeve of runes identical to the ones that decorated Morand’s skin. The greatest difference was that instead of black ink, Vana’s were ivory. Rubbing one that was only moderately different from Morand’s, she whispered in a foreign language. Soon, her whiskey revealed the sight of a pale man.

The only reason Morand knew he was a man was because he was her sire. Had anyone else seen the albino skinned male with a braid down to his waist and a pair of small breasts bound by cream colored bandages, they would have immediately thought him a woman.

In the ice, he sat with his legs crossed in a circle made of animal blood. A two headed snake was coiled around his arms, their fangs deep within his skin. Though he should have been in agony, his eyes were wide open, rolled back in his head. An expression of bliss was held on his lips.

“The gods summoned him, so he couldn’t make it. He and the other  _ Osha’ra  _ will remain in the magical realms until they’re fit to leave.” Vana released her hand, and the image within the whiskey disappeared. Her runes lost their glow. “You know, your father will be upset that I spied on him. Communing with the gods is very intimate.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you broke a holy rule. So, for what reason did my mother come to see me? I know it wasn’t just a social call.”

Vana gave a half wince. “You’re too cruel, Mora Mora. I did come to see my baby. It’s not every day we have a death in the family.”

Morand sighed. No, it wasn’t, and as Keepers of the Dead, it was the job of Morand’s clan to  _ preserve  _ their dead. Those Arache clansmen who were not buried in the sacred grounds of their people were cursed to wander the living realm as spirits. It was safe to say that Morand’s aunt was not happy it had taken her younger sister this long to come retrieve her ashes.

The shop currently looked like a windstorm had come through. Her aunt’s spectre had thrown things off the wall, she wouldn’t stop rattling the windchimes outside the bedroom window, and she had taken to writing threats on the bathroom mirror in blood. Where she got it from, Morand would never know, but apparently, three weeks was too long for her aunt to be a ghost.

Talking about it got the little stoat on Morand’s shoulder to take refuge in her shirt. Vana wasn’t as concerned. She stood up from the counter to pick up a decorative urn from the wall. When she returned, she opened it up and dribbled a little whiskey onto her sister’s ashes, an offering for the dead.

“You were always such a pain in the ass, Tamrain. May Arache guide you last,” Vana snickered.

Blood rose up on the glass counter beside them. In shaky handwriting, the ghost of Aunt Tamrain wrote, “Your husband is a shitty priest.”

“And you have a big nose.”

“Vana!” Morand complained. While the sisters were arguing, she had gotten a rag. She worked to wipe up all the blood that her aunt was using to write with. “And Aunt Tam, you don’t have to use blood. Paint works just fine.”

Right where Morand had cleaned, her ghost aunt scribbled, “But not as fun.”

Morand groaned, but her mother grinned. A golden lip piercing shined in the shop’s candlelight. Vana snickered, “It’s almost a pain to bury her. I’ll miss these nights.”

“Yeah, well, try living with it. Tam Tam’s going to the after realm, and that’s final.” Morand picked up her drink to take a sip then laid it and her rag on the countertop. “Now, we need to pick a song and dance for the funeral.”

* * *

Applause made Morand’s eyes shoot wide. When she could regain her bearings, she blinked at the salon. Lucio was beside her, clapping his hands. “Bravo!” he cheered. “More, more!”

Shaking her head, Morand smiled at him. Her fingers were just finishing the notes of a different song from what she’d been playing. This one was faster, more upbeat. She swallowed. The funeral song for her Aunt Tamrain?

Yet, she said, “It’s not that long of a song.”

Her fingers played around, grabbing a few chords here and there to drag the music out. When she looked at Lucio, he was in an almost dreamy state. His eyes were unable to leave her, alternating between her long fingers on the keys to her focused expression.

Still, Morand was only halfway paying attention to her notes. Her mind was abuzz with memories. She could see people dancing on green hills. She saw others gathered around and playing music, drinking as if a funeral was nothing other than a party.

She liked it. She liked it even better that she’d finished a memory without getting a headache. Was her brain completely soothed? No, there were some residual twinges, but she wasn’t on the floor sobbing.

She glanced at Lucio out of the corner of her eye. Was it Lucio that made her stronger? Did their connection reinforce her enough to face the past without being crippled?

Lucio bit his lip and leaned on the organ. “You’re incredible. You know that, right?”

Morand’s heart danced. Her fingers tripped over the last chord. “I do my best.”

Lucio wanted to say more, but the doors to the salon swung open. Morga’s grey eyes captured them immediately. She stared incredulously.

Yet, she only said, “Hmph. And here I expected some unholy racket.”

Looking like someone had stolen his favorite toy, Lucio whined, “Mother, you interrupted Morand!”

Those words brought a vicious grin to her lips. “Ah, Morand was playing. Not you. That explains it.”

Shamelessly, he grinned back at her. “You want to join in, Mother?”

“I came to see what was taking you so long. The Countess already left for the library.”

Leaning so that she could see the warrior in the doorway, Morand asked, “What about you? Are you researching with us?”

“Ha!” Morga snickered. “I know how to hunt foul magic, and I shall do it in my own fashion. You two should hurry up.” Then, she left. The door slid closed to the sight of her shaking her head, chuckling softly.

Carefully, Morand pulled the cover back over the organ. She pushed the bench back in. Lucio had already made it to the coffee table. He was eyeballing the cookies again. To her, he asked, “Do you think anyone will miss the rest of those cookies?”

When she only looked at him, he added, “You know, in case you get peckish in the library.”

Laughing, Morand covered the remaining cookies in a large napkin. She shifted until her messenger bag was on her hip and tucked her spoils between a grimoire bound in human skin and a few vials of powdered newts. “There. Now, we’re ready to do some reading.”

* * *


	16. Conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, where, oh, where has the passion gone. Oh, where, oh, where could it be? I look high and low, but it is a no show. Oh, where could my tension be?
> 
> Ah, sweet plot how you have gotten to the entire point of the story. It feels like forever since I had the chance to write a snuggly or sexy scene. On the bright side, I'm already working on chapter twenty, and it is turning out to be a doozey. My boy creature greatly wants Morand and Lucio to she-bang-bang, but I'm drawing it out to torment him.

**Conclusions**

When Morand walked into the hallway, Lucio admired her stroll. His magician was walking in the complete wrong direction. Wait. When did  _ the  _ magician become  _ his  _ magician?

Lucio thought back. Hmm. It must have happened somewhere between her admitting to liking him and the beauty of her focused face in front of the organ. He repeated the statement of exclusivity in his head, pleased by how good the words sounded. He just had to make them true.

Instead of letting her sashay further down the hall, Lucio called, “Uh, where are you going? Library’s that way.” He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “Big fancy door with way too many keys. You can’t miss it.”

She pivoted on her heel and flaunted a pout. “Hardy har har, my Count. I am ever so pleased you can actually manage to remember directions in your own home.”

On reflex, he held his hand out to her. When she reached for him, he could feel warmth, slight pressure, but she didn’t go through him. Instead, she followed the gesture of his arm. Had he been corporeal, he would have wrapped that arm around her shoulders, flaunting their relationship to all that walked by.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t corporeal. He’d have to settle for what she gave him. And she gave him more than he could ever have imagined. She was the first lucky penny he’d ever found.

Lagging a few steps behind her, he pretended dread wasn’t coming back into his heart. Old worries suffused him. The ever present guilt he’d tried to shove down was cropping back up like a stubborn pimple.

Morand looked to her right. When she didn’t see him at her side, she frowned. “Is something wrong?”

He put a hand on his hip. “Am I that transparent?”

She winked. “You are a ghost.”

“Heh. True. True.” Slowing their pace, he drug his feet towards the library. With a moment’s hesitation, he admitted, “I just… I thought everyone would be happy with me now. I thought we could all be friends.”

He put a hand in his pocket and watched the play of light within the facets of a jeweled chandelier. “I helped spring those familiars. I warned Noddy about the Devil and the Masquerade… What more do they want?”

Morand toyed with a tassel on her bag. He hadn’t noticed it throughout their adventure. She must have kept it in the garden while they’d been lost between realms. As her fingers played, she suggested, “Give them time.”

He walked towards her, and she stood still. When their paths aligned, she reached for his hand. Little electric tingles danced in the contact, but it wasn’t true touch, not like when they’d kissed. Not like when they’d held each other close. Yet, it wasn’t  _ un _ pleasant.

Morand continued, “People don’t change their feelings about others overnight. Be patient.”

He flashed his teeth. “Uh, Morand, you know this by now, but I’m no good at patient.”

Her throaty chuckle made his ghostly body warm. “Think of this as a chance to practice.”

“Practice being patient? Is that even a thing?”

“It certainly is.”

He huffed. “Honestly, that sounds horrible and boring.” Then, he twisted his lips in a scowl. “But I do want to be friends with everyone so… Maybe, it’s worth a try.”

In time, they made it in front of the library door. It was a massive, complex thing just as Lucio had claimed. The large wooden panels stood at least three times taller than himself and were stained a rich honey.

The woodgrains had been cut in a bookmatched style, each half being identical to its brother. When put together, they formed a tree. Leaves and fruit had been inlaid with jewels.

Luckily for them, someone had already unlocked it. Normally, vines would have to be unlocked one by one. Lucio had seen Nadia do it a time or two before. Typically, her head servant did it. What was her name again? Patricia? Pamela? It was P something.

Morand nudged the doors further apart for them, and Lucio followed her inside. Stacks upon stacks of books lined the walls. They reached high above their heads. At regular intervals, the deep walls were offset by stained glass set in Gothic arches.

Nadia was sitting in a recessed alcove. Stacks of documents were neatly laid at her slippered feet. Beyond her, Aisha and Salim were reading. Asra must have been somewhere deeper in the room.

Distracted by a place he rarely visited, Lucio goggled at all the books. His ex-wife had quite the collection. To Morand, he greeted, “So, this is the library. It’s pretty great! Full of books and learning!” Ugh, he couldn’t even convince himself that this room was exciting.

Math was a pain in the ass better left to witches and servants. He hadn’t spared a second glance at science. Then, there was reading. He could give or take it, only studied it for the sake of party planning. The Count could read fashion journals for hours.

“Where are the spellbooks kept?” Morand wondered. Unlike him, she was admiring the spines of nearby literature. Her sharp nails tapped on a few strands of gold leaf.

Wishing for all the world he had every answer she needed, Lucio spun in place to look around. Spellbooks. Spellbooks… What would a spellbook even look like? “Uh, somewhere around… here?”

Determined to show himself off as knowledgeable, Lucio drifted along the shelves. His fingers plucked books out at random. Some hung in the air. Others dropped, but he didn’t stop searching.

Looking down from his levitated posture, he asked, “Are any of these useful?”

Morand read off a few titles, “The Culinary Index of Foreign Ingredients isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but The Lusty Nevivon Maid may prove useful.” She reshelved them with a snicker.

Looking up at where he hovered, she said, “Lucio, you can’t just grab any old book. We have to—”

“Oh, I thought I heard a library ghost,” a musical voice lilted.

With her arms full of books, Morand turned towards Asra. Was Lucio imagining things, or did the younger magician look more tired than his apprentice? Deep furrows laid into his hair.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Asra admitted, “I’ve racked my brains, but I just can’t remember which books I used. And, we don’t have time to search every shelf and read every…”

His words faded, and Lucio frowned at the slow grazing of the man’s purple eyes. They floated from the apprentice then towards Lucio. The Count had drifted back to Morand like a dog guarding a favorite bone.

Casually, Asra smiled at his apprentice. “I have an idea, Morand. Would you mind lending me your magic for a moment?”

Without a second of hesitation, Morand offered her hands up to her master. “Sure,” she replied.

When Asra took hold of the apprentice’s hands, Lucio’s eyes quickly narrowed. No, he did not like that one bit. Those were his hands to hold. Jealousy on his tongue, he yapped, “Whoa, wait. What are you doing?”

Asra picked up on his tone instantly. A cocky grin sidled up one side of his face, and he explained, “Tracking residual magic with borrowed power from another magician. Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it, his ass! Asra was being a little shit, and he knew it.

Lucio could do nothing but sit there and grumble as the master magician rubbed his thumbs against Morand’s soft hands. Magic rippled in the air around them. It jolted through his body, too. Though where Morand looked enlightened by the touch, Lucio wanted to start scratching.

“Augh! What is that?” he complained.

Asra blinked at Lucio in surprise. “Hmm. The spell’s stronger than I anticipated. Even Lucio can feel it.”

Lucio started running his nails across his arms and neck. “Is magic supposed to itch? Something’s scratching at me from all the way over there!” He pointed a few shelves away from where they stood.

Slowly, the magicians picked their way amongst the books. Their bodies were guided by the same thing that had Lucio scratching to no relief.

Asra’s head tilted back at a tall bookshelf. “It’s strongest up there,” he explained. Holding up his hand, he gestured at a red bound journal. It sat on the highest shelf, far above everyone’s heads.

Floating towards it, Lucio stated, “I got it!” After a little telekinetic struggling, he got the book loose. It tumbled from his hold into Morand’s waiting hands.

Asra perused their findings. “That cover does look familiar, and I’m also sensing something from the books on the next shelf.”

With magic guiding them, the trio pulled free all the books that filled their senses with awareness. A stack was steadily growing around them, and Lucio placed the last leather encased cover down on a nearby desk. He asked, “Now what?”

Morand already had a book in her hands. She plopped right down on the floor where she’d been standing and cracked the papers open. Dust gusted from the motion. “We read,” she explained.

Lucio was so not into that reply. “That’s it? You can’t just wave your fingers over a book and find an answer?”

“That’s not how research works.”

Huffing, Lucio sunk into a chair. It sat facing the desk they’d stacked their findings atop. He kicked his feet and watched the others read with one hand holding up the side of his face. He could only take this waiting for roughly an hour before he had to see what was going on.

His body glided through the wooden desk, and he strolled around to see what Asra was looking at. Of course, it was boring. The master magician was sliding the tip of his finger beneath one word then another and another. When Asra noticed his presence, he shot Lucio a look that promised insults.

Eyes closed and rolled behind their lids. If Asra wanted to be Assra right now, Lucio didn’t have to deal with it. Using his astral body to his benefit, he hovered in the air as if he were floating on his back. His body drifted towards Morand’s spot on the floor, and he checked out what she was reading.

Her eyes moved from one side of a page to the other. Unconsciously, she mouthed a few words out in silence. When she got to a painting of a beautiful flower, he pointed at it.

“Oooh, what’s nightshade? That looks like a pretty plant.” It had been colored in violet and gold. The petals were shaped like bursts of starlight. In the center rested a golden shaft of petals.

Morand gave him a look of disbelief. One side of her face was curled into a snarl. “Lucio, nightshade is a deadly poison.”

“Oh! Can we still use it for Masquerade decorations?”

From the rim of his book, Asra’s purple eyes glared. He grumbled, “Can you keep it down? Or, at least, chatter somewhere else? I’m trying to read.”

Lucio threw his hands in the air. “And I’m bored! Who knew magic could be so dull?”

Scowling, Asra picked up a few pages of his dusty tome and let them fall in rapid succession against his thumb. With his other hand, he drummed fingertips against his chair’s arm. It wouldn’t be long before their cat and dog argument started back up.

Lucio was prepping himself for the confrontation when Morand stood. She opened up her bag, tucked her book inside of it, and retied the sack’s leather bindings. Facing the Count, she mentioned, “We don’t have to stay cooped up in here all day. Let’s go for a quick walk, clear our heads.”

Giddy, Lucio almost bounced on his heels. Anything was better than sitting around all day. Lucio hated being stationary, would rather have his teeth pulled out one after the next. When Asra encouraged them, the Count was already moving to leave.

“Where do you wanna go, Morand? The garden? The gazebo? Ballroom?” Lucio put a finger up to his lips in thought. “Oh, I bet the Masquerade decorations are going up right now! Let’s go see!” Thoughtlessly, the Count reached for Morand’s hand. He wanted to tug her out of the room but couldn’t. Only those electric tingles danced between their almost contact.

Scrunching up her face at him, she yipped, “Okay! Okay, stop. That tickles.”

* * *

When they made it back to the hall, Lucio might as well have been wagging a dog’s tail back and forth. “Look. Streamers,” he exclaimed.

Sure enough, a box of decorations was stuck in a corner of the hall. Whoever left it there must have been called away. Within it were miscellaneous items such as garland, fabric flowers, and bells.

On cue, Lucio dove for a gold streamer. Ornaments rolled out from his hasty movement, and Morand caught one under her slipper. She kicked it to send it back towards its box.

The Count was playing beside her. He twisted the streamer around. “One of my favorite Masquerade costumes had streamers. A whole glittering, golden cape that flowed behind me in every dance,” he explained with gusto. “I was the talk of the town for weeks, Morand.”

Twirling in place, the ribbon curled around him on an awkward breeze. More than once, the streamer slipped through his ghostly fingers. Sheepishly, he said, “I’m a little out of practice. I promise, I’m an amazing dancer.”

Ah, there were those hints of insecurity she adored. A rune on her foot trickled with magical power, and she replied, “Here. Let me help.”

Pulling the magic upwards, she let the magic flow off her fingertips. A warm gust swept around him. The streamer floated up and around. It twisted in time with his steps.

Though she was moving the streamer, his motions weren’t bad at all. The Count had elegant footwork, for once boasting something that was actually true about himself. Catching the loose end of the streamer, he weaved it through his fingers and around his wrist.

Without pausing his movements, he mentioned, “Oh, we should definitely do this at the Masquerade! Just imagine it, Morand. You and me doing a magical tango down the ballroom steps.” He danced around her. “All eyes on us as a burst of streamers rises to the roof. The applause, the cheering… We’d be the most dazzling pair in all Vesuvia.”

He smiled wide and held the streamer up to his lips. The glittering gold of the fabric was reflected in his red eyes, washing the color with dashes of crimson. There was passion in that red sclera, and for a moment, Morand could pretend it was the red of flames instead of a sign of plague.

Hot breath breezed across her knees. One brow rising, the apprentice turned. Two white tails were wagging gently, and Morand’s heart swelled at the sight of Mercedes and Melchior.

Immediately, Lucio cried for them. “My babies! Did you come to watch your daddy dance? Did you?”

His hounds wagged their tails faster. Little paws jumped, and jaws snapped at the streamer Lucio and Morand were playing with.

“You wanna play?” Lucio challenged. He smirked at Morand. “Toss it to them. Let’s play tug-o-war!”

Lips curling, Morand dangled the streamer above Mercedes’s muzzle. Her sharp teeth were revealed, and white canines clamped down. Yanking it out of the magician’s hand, the dog bolted down the hall.

Lucio hollered, “Whoa, whoa! Slow down!”

Too late, Morand realized Lucio had grabbed onto the streamer. He was being dragged behind Mercedes like a squawking, translucent balloon. Once they went around a servant, the man dropped a basket of linens. His eyes were glued to the three beings running through the hall.

Quickly, Morand took after them. She waved a hand at the servant. “Nothing to see here. This is completely fine and under control.”

In front of her, a vase fell thanks to Melchior’s excited dash. Morand dove to catch it. Her sandals slid against the polished floor, and she used a little magic to toss the vase back on a sofa table.

After that task was complete, she saw Mercedes running. Lucio yelped from behind her. “Mercedes! Hey, hey. That’s a wall!” Then, they disappeared.

Even though Morand knew this building was awash in magical portals, she winced as she dashed through the place they had gone. Her hands came up to block incoming statuary, yet she kept going. When she didn’t hit anything, she opened one eye.

Manicured lawns and rustling leaves surrounded her. Hedges had recently been shaped into carefully trimmed boxes. In the dark mulch, flowers glistened from a recent watering, yet no one was around.

“Lucio?” she hollered.

Off to the right of her, something rustled. Loose twigs rained on her top. Staring blankly, Morand saw the Count. He had somehow gotten himself stuck in a horse shaped topiary. Smiling weakly at her, he asked, “Uh, a little help here, Morand?”

The dogs weren’t around and neither was the streamer. As she perused his position, he grumbled, “Maybe, you could hurry it up before anybody sees me? This is pretty undignified.”

Hands on her hips, Morand ran her pointed tongue against a canine. She pursed her upper lip. “Hmm. I dunno. You got yourself into this.”

“Ah! Come on!”

She held her hands up in surrender. “Like I said. You got yourself into this. Get yourself out, big boy.”

He tutted, “Really, Mercedes got me into this, and you gave her the streamer. Ergo…”

Morand shook her head, not backing down. “The whole thing was your idea.”

He had the decency to blush, rendering a soft silver across his shapely cheekbones. “Well, uh. I thought it’d be funny?”

With her fist in front of her face, she giggled at him. Ah, yes. He was right about that. Him stuck half inside of a horse bush was rather entertaining. She admitted, “It certainly was, my dear Count.”

Still lit up in his own embarrassment, Lucio shuffled his way out of the topiary. He shivered as reaching branches scraped against him. “Eh! Walking through things tickles now!”

“Shall we head back to the library now?”

“Yeah. I could go back and stare at some boring old books.” He paused and added, “For a little while.”

She grunted in agreement then headed back towards the library. As fun as their walk had been, they couldn’t stay away long. There was too much to prepare for, too many obstacles to overcome in their impending battle against the Devil.

Quickly, Lucio slipped in front of her. He held up a hand in a stopping motion. “Wait, you’ve got some twigs.” Like he wanted nothing more than an excuse to touch her, he swept his hands across her shoulders and back. Stray leaves and twigs tumbled.

With a look of satisfaction, he spoke, “Much better. Let’s go before Mercedes and Melchior decide to drag me off somewhere else.”

When they got back to the library, Asra’s stack of books had grown. It was twice as tall as before, and a twin was growing beside it. Quilty, Morand winced. While she had been off entertaining the Palace ghost, Asra had been hard at work.

Yet, he didn’t act upset with her. If anything, he looked mildly curious when he pushed some spellbooks her way. He must have wondered what she’d been doing alone with the Count.

Self consciously, she reached to her neck. There was a stray twig in the back of her hair. She put it into her pocket as if trying to hide her misadventures.

When she made herself cozy back on the floor, Lucio flopped down beside her. He rubbed his hands together like a classic villain. “All right. Time to knuckle down and read really hard.”

From Morand’s stack, he leaned over the largest book. His eyes squinted at fine print. After he opened it up, pleasant silence reigned. The only noises were the flipping of books, occasional reshelving, and Lucio’s running commentary.

He bore his teeth in disgust after flipping through his latest tome. “Hey, I found some really gross pictures. Squishy things in tubes? People cut open?” He pulled his hand back abruptly. “Ew! Is that blood on the pages?”

Finger pointing at the red journal they’d collected, he looked over at Morand and Asra. When she leaned towards him, she frowned. It certainly looked like blood. Dark stains had been painted atop the yellowing, aged paper.

She stated, “Gross.”

Moving to push the journal from where Lucio was holding it in her face, her hand dipped against the strange stain. At the contact, pain surged through her body. It flowed from the tip of her pinky before concentrating in slashing motions against her heart and abdomen. Soon, she was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

“Morand? Morand!” Asra called her.

Within her head, she could hear things. There was the scribbling of a quill on paper. An anguished voice, trembling and angry, crawled through her skull.

_ “Sixth attempt a failure. It won’t work without mortal subjects. All my life’s work, for naught!” _ Papers flew. Something smashed against stone.

_ “Another failure. Several subjects dead. Can the confluence of realms truly be forced?” _ The voice paused. Leather crunched and nails dribbled against wood.

_ “Still no success, but it matters not.  _ He  _ came to me in the dead of a moonless night. The horned one. The master. He spoke of what must be done. To join heaven and earth, to return this feeble flesh to power unimaginable…” _

When the nausea passed, Morand opened her eyes. Her lashes folded and unfolded atop parchment. Confused, she rose. Paper peeled off the side of her face, and her stomach curdled. She had been laying face down on the bloody page.

Shoving it away, she curled into herself. Arms clamped across her biceps. She shivered where she sat.

That voice had been filled with insanity, the musings of a madman. The anguish seared her. The desperation had her heart still racing within its bony prison.

Lucio was in front of her face instantly. “Morand! Are you okay? Did you just faint?”

Had Asra the ability to push the Count away, he likely would have. On one knee, he looked her over. “Shush, Lucio. She didn’t faint. She saw a memory, preserved in the book’s pages.” He wiped a lock of sweaty hair out of her face. “Morand, what was it?”

With a few shaky breaths, she reached for calm. It took time, a couple of tries, but she managed to say, “I think I saw someone else trying to deal with the Devil. The author of this journal.”

Quickly, she recounted the memory that had been foisted upon her. She gave details on the scribbling quill and the frantic speech. As she spoke, Asra snatched the journal. He flipped through the pages madly.

He explained, “This looks like it belonged to an ancient alchemist. It’s a mess of experiments and ramblings.” His finger roamed the page. “‘To join heaven and earth.’ Ah, here’s the rest of the passage.”

Clearing his throat, he recounted, “‘At the beginning, all time and space was one. The present division of realms only came about through great labors. And it may be undone by powerful and nefarious magicks. The horned master commands it of me.’” When he was done speaking, his face was pale, alarmed.

Though she was still trying to calm the blood induced memory, Morand worked out, “Well, damn.”

The Count agreed with her. “Seriously. I didn’t understand a word of that, but it still sounded bad to me.”

In front of them, Asra wasn’t as convinced. He scratched the back of his head and put the journal down. “We shouldn’t jump to a conclusion and run with it. We’re not certain of the details.” His eyes grew shadowed. “But… ‘powerful and nefarious magicks’ certainly sound like the ritual from three years ago.”

He plucked the book off the desk then walked back to Morand. Pointing at the scrawled words, he kept on, “This bit about the division of realms. It’s talking about our world and the magical realms. And, the possibility of merging them.”

Lucio yipped, “Wait! You mean bringing the weird magic place here? Into the normal world?”

“A bit simplistic but yes. Even attempting magic on that scale would have catastrophic consequences. I wonder if this alchemist actually tried to do such a thing…”

There was a thud and a squeaking. Metal moved against wood, and Morga stood in the library doorway. As if reporting the movements of enemy soldiers, the warrior marched right up to where Asra and Morand stood. She eyeballed them warily.

Lucio didn’t see the menace in her posture. “Mother? I thought you were out hunting?”

She ignored him. “You, Morand, and Asra. Come with me. Now.”

Confused, Asra barked, “What? But we’re in the middle of—”

“Don’t argue. I’ve found something. Something that needs a magician’s eyes.”


	17. Again and Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, at last we are getting back to the good stuff. As I mentioned before, my chapter twenty is turning out to be dipped in sexual tension, iced in smut, and approved by my resident tall, dark, and idiotic. Trust me when I say that's something. The guy hasn't picked up a book in ages that wasn't a comic. In other news, I hope you enjoy the writing I've been posting so far and continue to enjoy it. If there are any issues you see with the plot or have suggestions on scenes you'd like to see in the future, by all means write 'em down in the comments. I love to hear from my readers.

**Again and Again**

Whatever Morga needed them to look at was in the darkness of Lucio’s wing. On the positive side, though, it wasn’t half as dusty as it had been the last time the apprentice had visited. The remaining ash on the floor had been swept away, and some of the portraits that had received excessive damage were taken off the walls.

Morand was lucky she got to see any of the changes at all given Morga’s brisk pace. She took two steps at a time to reach her son’s rooms. By the time she paused in front of Lucio’s bedroom door, Morand’s heart was clattering around like loose change in her chest.

Turning to the others, the warrior had a tense line drawn between her brows. Spear in hand, she discussed, “Can you smell it? Something lingering, twisted, and foul…”

Lucio put two hands on his hips and leaned in closer to his mother’s statuesque posture. “That isn’t very nice,” he pouted.

Eyes closed, she snarled her lip at him. “Not you, Montag. It lurks deeper within.”

Shouldering his door open, she released a cloud of ash and dust. Morand sighed. So much for anyone cleaning. Had she not known they’d spent more hours in the magical realms than had passed in reality, she might have been disgusted by the Countess’s lack of care for her ex-husband’s quarters.

Yes, they had their problems, but no one deserved to live in such squallor. Dead or alive.

It didn’t take them but a second within the room for Lucio to start squawking at something. He pointed at his favorite portrait in sheer horror. “Mother! What did you do to my painting?”

Splintered wood and shreds of canvas hung from the wall. It was all that remained of Lucio’s painting. It looked as if Morga had kicked her foot clean through it.

Lucio paced the room in a flurry of complaints. Well, paced was a bit of an overstatement. It was more like he drifted around, stomping his feet a few inches above the floor. Regardless, he crowed, “What have you got against fine art?!”

She paid him no heed. Instead, she pushed aside the tattered canvas and revealed a panel in the wall that was just the least bit different from the rest of Lucio’s room.

Brows raised, Asra observed, “Is that a hidden passage?”

Morga nodded, a shallow motion of her chin. “Yes, and when I entered, some power took hold of me, puppeting my limbs against my will. I managed to stagger back, but I will go no further without a magician.”

Asra returned her nod with one of his own. “I see. I could extend some magical protection over us.” Eyes closed, the magician’s aura rippled. Magic blanketed their bodies in a warm wash. Once the ward was complete, he added, “Hopefully, that’s enough. Let’s head down this secret passage.”

Duty-bound, Morga and Asra slipped beyond the destroyed canvas, but Morand only put one foot in before she turned around. Lucio was lingering. His face was heavy with disappointment.

In a small voice, he pouted, “I used to spend hours gazing at that portrait. It kept me company when I was sick.”

Winking at him, Morand snickered, “You’re more handsome than a portrait.”

Just like that, she had managed him. His frown flipped to a grin, and he trailed his translucent fingers down her back. Sidling in closer, he asked, “Really? How much more handsome?”

She tsked at him. “Now, you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“Aw, come on, Morand. Twice as handsome? Ten times more handsome?”

She leaned back from her brace on the corner of the passage and ran her lips against his ghostly visage. Electric contact toyed with her skin. Never pulling away, she purred, “A hundred. At least.”

Grin wide, Lucio grew completely distracted from his painting. When she moved to leave the room, he happily floated behind her. She grinned. Like bribing a kid with candy.

Attention on the task at hand, Morand followed the dim passage only a short while before it opened. A luxurious dining room stretched in front of her. A gold and crystal chandelier hung over a table that could easily fit twenty two people.

Swirling around the room was a red haze. Powerful magic lingered within the miasma. It pressed down on Asra’s wards like wayward spirits trying to contact the living from the great beyond.

Wary, Asra asked, “What… is this place? A secret dining room?” His eyes followed Lucio like they were connected by their own invisible string of magic.

The Count didn’t look at him. Instead, he admired the silverware. It was either particularly shiny, or Count Lucio was avoiding the truth. Again.

Words bubbled to his lips. “I hardly ever used it. Way too far from the ballroom, and the food was always lukewarm by the time it got here.”

Asra narrowed his eyes. The normally bright purple of his irises darkened from the shadow of the magician’s white eyelashes. They appeared almost black in the red haze. “That’s not my point. You didn’t mention this secret room earlier.”

Lucio fidgetted. His voice became soft and pleading. “I didn’t think it was important, but more than that, I…” He jerked his head away and fingered one of the shiny badges on the red sash across his vest. “I don’t like reliving any of this. It reminds me of all the stupid things I did when—when I was dying.”

Astonishingly, Asra’s expression didn’t grow darker. It actually softened. With an expression that Morand could only describe as relatability, Asra replied, “I understand.”

The Count took a short step backwards. His brows rose. “You do? That’s not what I thought you’d say.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were strangled.

His hair swept forward on a sudden jerking motion, and something invisible began to drag him across the room. He slid across red carpeting. It began to rise and fold beneath the heels of his tall boots.

On reflex, his hand stretched out. It snagged onto Morand, and they were both forced towards the chair at the head of the table. All around them, Asra’s wards began to shiver. They shuddered before breaking completely.

“What’s happening?!” Lucio screeched.

Morand dug her feet into the carpet. She clutched the Count tight, trying to pull them back towards Asra and Morga. “Stop moving!” the apprentice growled.

Lucio shook his head frantically. “I’m not! Something else is moving  _ me _ !”

The force shoved him down into the chair they’d been approaching. Smokey, wavering chains materialized from nowhere. They slung themselves around Lucio, binding him to the spot.

“What the—Get off, get off!” He writhed in his spot, but like many times before, it was useless. The chains coiled tighter and tighter.

“Gettin’ real tired of your shit, Devil!” Morand called out to nowhere in particular.

When Lucio reached out for her, Morand did the same. This was getting so old! Did the Devil really not have any other means to achieve his goals other than misdirection and chains? The guy seriously needed to work on his technique.

Squirming for freedom, Lucio cried, “Morand, help me!”

The more he moved, the tighter their hold became. It was like they were watching a python react to the death throes of its prey. Teeth gritted, Lucio roared, “Why me?! Why is it always me?”

Asra called, “Stop yelling and calm down! You’re making it worse.”

They were the wrong words. Lucio’s face silvered in his ghost form, the spectral version of a red blush. Baring every tooth in his head, he screamed, “Calm down? Calm down?! You try calming down!”

Scowling, Morand clenched and unclenched her fists. She wanted to punch something. Muscles knotted tight, she stepped in front of Asra. To him, she growled, “I’ll handle this. I’ve done it before.”

The sight of her irritated face made Asra take a few steps back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Softening her face for the briefest moment, Morand asked, “Can you keep watch for any unpleasant surprises while I work?”

“Of course.”

“And Lucio?” she chimed in a happy-go-lucky tone.

He jerked his head up at her. “Um, me? Yes?”

“Hold still and stop yelling, damn it!”

Her sharp words had him bolting ramrod straight in his chair. He immediately stopped squirming. Lips pressed together in a last line of defense against his incessant whining.

Though Morand busied herself with preparing her magic, she couldn’t keep from seeing the satisfied grin on Morga’s face. She appeared proud of the apprentice’s fire. Good because she was going to see more of it if Lucio kept being a brat.

Inhaling for focus, Morand awakened her lines of runes. They worked as a combination lock, having to be activated in just the right order else her magic would fail. Her blood pulsed in her ears. It was as calming as the sound of the ocean, a way for her to listen to which combinations were right or wrong.

In this room, her magic felt constrained. Each combination awoke slowly. Her senses of self were dulled. Disregarding it all, Morand reached out to Lucio’s chains.

“Ack!” The Count’s breath was cut off sharply. She watched in horror as the chains coiled around his throat, reminiscent of a hangman’s noose.

From the background, Asra called, “Careful, Morand!”

She shook his words away. She didn’t need to hear Asra. She didn’t need to be distracted by Lucio’s gurgling breaths. All she needed was focus. If she could just focus then maybe she would be able to fix this for everyone.

On a shaky breath, she exhaled. “Come on, baby. Second time’s the charm. Easy…”

She stepped closer. The chains pulled back. The Count’s entire body was lifted from the chair and dragged towards the wall of the dining room. His silence broke. With eyes brimming with fear, he screamed, “Not again! Morand, help me!”

Jumping over his crashing chair, she lunged for him. Their fingers brushed in tingly awareness just in time for her forehead to crash into the dining room wall. It was sealed. He was gone.

Immediately, rage consumed her. Blood heated her in a wave from the toes of her feet up to the top of her scalp. Fist clenching, she threw it hard into the red papered wall. Her knuckles busted.

She didn’t care. She struck again. Then again. Between hits, she roared, “Why—the fuck—can’t I—do this!”

“Morand!” someone cried for her. She barely heard it.

A hand wrapped around her arm. Another caught her fist and wrenched it backwards on her wrist. “Calm yourself, girl!” It was… Morga?

Snarling, Morand opened her eyes into a steady, grey gaze. While Asra was holding her from behind, Morga stood in front of her. Her grip was cruel, crushing without so much as a tremble.

“He’s still—” The fist tightened, and Morand hissed.

“You’re no good to us unless you can control your rage.”

Curls whipped in the air, and Morand shook her head. “Why does this keep happening?” Hot tears branded the rims of her eyes, but she willed them not to fall.

Would she always be a liability to someone else? Could she not even keep one man safe from evils she dealt with on a daily basis? Working with the dead was how she made her living. She knew demons on a first name basis, had resisted them time and time again. But now, she couldn’t even hold up her promise to keep Lucio safe?

As if Morga could sense the battle inside of the apprentice. She threw Morand’s hand down and palmed the apprentice’s forehead. Forcing Morand to look her in the eye, Morga demanded, “Reign it in!”

Teeth still bared, Morand tore away from the older woman. She turned her back on the others and braced her bloody hand on the dining table. In a voice that was much more calm than what she felt, she grumbled, “Why does this keep happening?”

Cautiously, Asra moved his weight from one leg to the other. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Lucio’s… unique. Neither dead nor alive. Some magic must affect him differently, but it’s just a guess. We don’t exactly have time to stand here and speculate.”

She could agree with that much. Flexing her fingers, she looked at wounds that could easily be healed with magic. Out of self-spite, she let her magic slink back inside of herself. She didn’t need to waste power on trivial injuries. Besides, at least, this way she could see how foolish she was.

Turning around, she faced the magician and the warrior. Eyes closed in contemplation, she explained, “Last time I lost him, I was able to find him with magic.”

“True. You’ve been connected to him for a while now,” Asra intoned. 

She opened her eyes and cut them to the wall where Lucio had disappeared. _ Yeah. A while. That was one way to word it. _

Asra continued to explain, “Still, let’s leave this room before we try anything. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this place.”

Though Morand had the same feeling, she was reluctant to leave. Her grueling desire to slink away and lick her wounds was growing with every failed attempt at a rescue. Just how the hell had she gotten so deep in this… whatever the hells it was?

When Morga narrowed her eyes on her, Morand pried herself off the table. She skulked behind the others and glowered at the ceiling. Despite the state of her emotions and this decrepit bedroom, she felt a little better once they were ensconced in Lucio’s quarters.

Morga went straight for the door. Not looking back, she stated, “I’ll tell Satrinava about that hidden room. You two can handle the rest.” After she left, her mumbling lingered. Something about troublesome ghost sons.

Releasing a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, Morand braced against the doorframe between the secret room’s hall and Lucio’s room. She closed her eyes, caught her breath, and tried to convince herself that she could still do something.

Feet clapped against wooden floors that had once held beautiful striations of herringbone parquet. Asra paused just in front of her. With her eyes closed, she didn’t so much as see him as she did feel his presence.

He was careful when he spoke. “How are you… How do you feel?”

She drew her attention to where three sets of footprints were laid in drifting ash. Arms crossed beneath her breasts, she commented, “Shitty. You?”

A laugh slid from his nose. “Yeah. You could say that. Do you want to talk about it or…”

Her jewelry danced against her ears when she shook her head. The golden rings clanked. “Let’s just get going.”

The younger magician pursed his lips then licked them. “All right. Close your eyes, then. Feel your connection to Lucio.”

_ Ha. As if it’s something I can ignore.  _ She knew Lucio’s spiritual presence as if it were her own. Their time in the magical realms had bonded them in ways neither had expected. Her crush on his mind had leaked into a crush for his body. Maybe, she even craved his spirit?

Obeying her master, Morand leaned the back of her head on the doorframe. She could feel the Count instantly. He was a strong, bright tether linking her across miles. She could almost feel the string of power twining through her fingers.

Spiritually, she followed it. Her mind wisped through buildings and archways until she was running through the streets of Vesuvia. Her soul trailed along their connection. Slowly, a hazy image grew into a blocky shape. The blocky shape grew into a structure.

It was an overgrown building. The construction stood stark and crumbling against the sky. Beneath the imagined feet of her soul, ashen sand shifted. Salt and rot hung in the air, decay and seawater.

Third eye locked on the vision, she whispered, “I may have seen where he was?”

She opened one eye to see Asra’s confident smile. It kind of warmed her. She may not have confidence in herself, but Asra did. He trusted her magic like the rich trusted their taxation. “That was quick,” he complimented.

Brows drawing, she relayed her vision. “A ruin on an island, with beaches covered in ash.”

His smile dropped. “I see.” Frowning at something in his head, he added, “Well, at least, the Lazaret isn’t too far away.”

Lazaret? She shivered before she made the decision to. That was a name she hadn’t expected to hear. It was a building on an island off the Vesuvian coast, home to those who had been quarantined during the Red Plague.

Even fishing boats avoided it these days. More than one leery citizen had claimed it to be haunted. Years ago, Morand had been wandering the docks. Her eyes had been ever drawn to that place when a fisherman had warned, “Best get your eyes off that place, girl. Only fools and the damned live there now.”

Pushing the memory aside, she stated, “The Lazaret’s been abandoned for years. Why would Lucio be there?”

“I don’t know, but if that’s where you sensed him, that’s where he’ll be.”

Straightforward enough. The machinations of her mind set to work devising a plan to get there. To her master, she asked, “Any advice on how to make it that far out?”

His eyes rounded. “How to… wait! Surely, you don’t mean to go alone.”

Well, it wasn’t the most ideal situation, but from where Morand stood, it was about the only way they’d be able to get everything ready for whatever the Devil had stuck in his fur. She explained, “Who knows how long it’ll take me to find Lucio? Let’s divide and conquer.”

Though her first instinct was to defend against his protests, he merely nodded with her. “I… of course. You’re right. You should head to the docks. You can take a boat to the Lazaret from there.”

When he smiled, it didn’t meet his eyes. More secrets, Morand presumed. Running a hand impatiently through her hair, she asked, “Asra, what’s wrong?”

“Lucio just got dragged off to a haunted island, and you’re asking  _ me  _ what’s wrong?” This time, his smile was true. “Go on, Morand. Just bring him back before he gets into even more trouble.”

Two hands spun her around by the shoulders, and Asra gently shooed his apprentice out of the room. She wanted to press the issue. He didn’t let her. After she met the cool air of Lucio’s hallway, he sealed the door shut.

She rolled her eyes. Had she been a natural born female, she would have just attributed all of this drama to the two moody men in her life, but she wasn’t a natural born female. Thus, she grumbled, “Idiots.”

Eyes on the dark hall, Morand took off in a jog. No one paused at her pace. She dipped by servants and cooks then out the front gates of the Palace without so much as a question.

Lucky her that there were several carriages waiting along the streets. Patting down her bag, she found her coin purse in a hidden pocket. Good. She’d have fare here. Hopefully, it would be enough to get a boat once she got to the docks.

Hand up, she flagged a driver. They were a woman sporting a broad brimmed hat to keep the bright, Vesuvian sun out of her eyes. Hopping inside when a door was opened for her, Morand passed the woman her toll. “The docks, please.”


	18. Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... We're starting to get to the point where I diverge from the original plot line. I hope you all don't mind the liberties I took in explaining a few things. Y'all are super close to catching up to where I left off, so I really need to get my writing groove back up to speed. In other news, I just finished playing the Dream Daddy app. Now, there's a funny story. Gotta say, Robert, Damien, and Craig are my boys. Also, Hugo. Just... Hugo. Yes. See you in class... bitch.

**Fine**

It was a quiet afternoon when Morand reached the dockside. Various, empty gondolas dotted the wooden boardwalk. Only a few people were paying fares to move along the waterways.

Joining them, Morand searched for someone who seemed as if they’d be undaunted by superstition. It didn’t take long. Down the pier one man was leaned back in his boat. His arms, toned by days of rowing, were stretched out on either side of a bench. Judging by the frown lines around his mouth, she doubted the gondolier had laughed in ages.

Morand approached without hesitation. Upon seeing her, the man’s back slowly straightened. He took up his rowing oar and asked, “Where to?”

“The Lazaret.”

Morand wasn’t sure if she’d surprised him or not. A brow might have raised. His eyes may have narrowed. Holding out his callused hand, he rubbed his fingers together.

Sighing, Morand fished around in her coin purse to add a few extra coins to the standard fare. It made a little sense. After all, they were going to a place where people said demons lurked.

The man snatched her coin then rubbed the currency together to check its authenticity. Satisfied, he gruffly spoke, “Hmph. Slow day. S’pose this’ll do.”

A hand parked itself on her hip. It had better do because Morand Arache was not above stealing. No way in the seven hells would she break her bank just to get a superstitious old man to take her a few miles across the sea.

After she took her spot where the gondolier had been stretched, they set out. In silence, the man rowed. He stood with his back blocking the dusklight. Every now and then, his gaze would wander back to the city.

He wasn’t alone in his wariness. The closer they drew, the more a sense of awareness tickled the hair on the back of her neck. It was as if she recognized this place, more intimately than the average Vesuvian citizen.

Toying with her fingernails, Morand observed the approaching Lazaret. It was tall. Walls had been broken down by coastal storms, harsh tides, and disuse. Nature sweeped in the form of fresh saplings and tall grasses.

When the gondolier stopped just shy of the beach, Morand slung her legs over into cool surf. The waves lapped at her calves as if guiding her deeper within the island.

She began to approach. The sand beneath her feet was gooey, thickened by saltwater. When she made it onto the beach, each step pulled with a slick, slurping sound. Strangely though, her approach felt like a… homecoming?

Her eyes followed where nature was working to overtake the structure of the Lazaret. Vines climbed its decaying walls. Mortar was cracked. Dead tendrils of brown grass encroached on a stone pathway, curling like beckoning fingers.

On a wisp, a wayward breeze crawled over the side of her face. It crept like the many legs of a spider, and she brushed it away. This very land called to her, each step seeping all the way into her bones. Had she been here before?

Her thought was punctuated by a wail. It rose from the broken windows of the Lazaret, crawling over the landscape as if hunting for a new victim. With the cry, the scent of death followed. Morand’s hands shook, and she swiftly clenched them.

Behind her, the gondolier squawked. There was a splash. Morand turned in time to see him fishing his oar out of the water. He snatched it and pushed his vessel away from the shore.

“What the— Where are you going?” she screeched.

He never looked back. His arms were rippling with the exertion of getting out of this place. Cursing, Morand leaned her head down. “Lucio, what the fuck have you gotten me into now,” the magician scolded to her sandy feet.

With nowhere else to go, she waded towards the beach. The cold of this island was a hard contrast to the rest of Vesuvia. Somehow, in the middle of summer, she was shivering from chills.

Arms wrapped around each other. She tried to keep fear at bay. Once more, a long wail eased through the woods around the Lazaret. Its mournful tone felt more like a voice than the wind, old screams collaborating to howl as one.

She wanted to call for the Count, but movement stopped her. Something flitted through the trees. It weaved around the branches in scratchy movements, jerking itself to and fro.

Her muscles locked down immediately. Clamping her hand over her mouth, Morand didn’t even dare to breath. _One, two, three…_ Quickly, she drew a breath. Then, she began counting in her head. By the time she reached sixty, she moved forward.

Each step was slow. Even when she was being hunted by the Devil, she hadn’t felt like prey. At least, with the Devil she knew what was stalking her, what the presence lingering in the darkness was. Here, she could only imagine.

In time, she made it to a hole in the side of the aging edifice. She picked her way around invading vines. They were crawling through the ceiling, and Morand’s hands laid onto rough stones when she had to climb over crumbling walls.

Above her, the clouds rolled. They would cast the space she stood at in darkness then pass at random intervals. In slivers of light, Morand could see new details. Old linens were being eaten away by insects and rodents. Wood framed beds laid broken at odd angles.

Landing in a moderately clear spot of rubble, the panic in Morand’s chest bubbled. She didn’t want to be in this place any longer than she had to. Her hand glowed, and she used it as a light to maneuver through the ruins.

Suddenly, a high, unearthly shriek echoed down a pitch black hall. It jerked her attention to the side, to the dark corridor she stood in front of. Moving towards it, debris crunched beneath her feet. More than once, she had to leap over fallen stones or rotting wooden beams.

She weaved through one hall after another before something recognizable hit her ears. A voice?

“W-what’s that? Who’s there?” was spoken in a shaky tone.

Furrowing her brows, Morand put her hands together. The touch of her lit runes to her other hand caused them to wake. When she pulled them apart, a wave of light flowed between her palms.

She split it into two glowing orbs and spoke into the wavering daylight. “Lucio? Where are you?”

No voice answered. Stepping deeper into a new room, she roved her eyes across aged medical equipment. Vials had been stained by seasalt until they were nearly opaque. She frowned towards what might have been blood stains smeared onto the masonry.

Snap! A clatter came from her right, and surprise sent ice through her veins. Her runes flickered before going out completely. She’d found him!

He was hunkered down behind a rusted bed frame. Hands swatted frantically in the air. They batted at wisps, dark figures shaped like shadows.

They crawled for him from all angles. One lingered in a doorway. Another was slithering from the frame he had taken refuge by.

Morand was accustomed to them. Where many people would see undetailed figures, she could see men and women. There were old and young. Soft, pleading voices wrapped around her senses in a power almost akin to touch. It creeped along her skin with gentle strokes.

One walked through her, and Morand shivered. To the Count, it wheezed, “You. You did this to us…”

Lucio gripped his head tightly. Into the floor, he cried, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“You know,” was called in unison.

The ghost of an old man, hunchbacked and hand outstretched, backed Lucio against a wall. The Count had to tilt his head to look him in the face. “H-hey there. Good ghost. Nice ghost?”

The spectre continued forward. Bony fingers were gnarled from arthritis. The tips were tinged red with blood.

Lucio scampered away with his hands, knees bent in front of him in a backwards scramble. “N-no, no! Go away. Go away! You’re dead. You’re not real!” His hands stopped waving and he used them to protect his neck and skull.

Using the spiritual energy as a magical boost, Morand equipped the spell for a shield in her head. She stepped around the ghost of a small child clutching tight to its father’s hand. They didn’t react to her at all.

“Lucio,” she spoke. “It’s me. Can you hear me?”

His head ripped free of its shield. Breathless and frantic, he squealed, “Gah! Who’s that?! I’ll fight you, too.”

She sighed through her nose. _Yeah, right._ She’d like to see him try right now. Going down to one knee in front of him, she replied, “Please, don’t.”

Though she stood at his front, he jerked his head wildly. When he finally focused enough to take her in amongst the spirits, his pupils dilated wide. “Morand! You’re finally here!” Lucio moved to sit on his bent legs. “What took you so damned long?”

“You’re welcome.”

Immediately, he changed his tone. “I mean, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Now, get me out of here!” With each word, his voice raised.

Morand ignored it. She was too busy examining the spectral chains that had him strapped to the floor. There were so many. Likely, he wouldn’t be able to stand if he tried, and Morand was sure he’d tried.

Irritated, Lucio yapped, “Uh, can you hurry up? In case you hadn’t noticed, there are an awful lot of… ghosts…” His voice broke.

Jaw loose and eyes wide, the Count gaped at something behind the magician’s shoulder. Before she turned, Morand inhaled through her nose then exhaled from her mouth. She could feel her heart beating in suppressed fear. There was no way she wasn’t going to at least try to control it before seeing something horrible behind her.

Slowly, she turned. A new apparition had entered the room. It stalked from a reinforced door, a reinforced door that would have been strong enough to resist… flames. Morand swallowed.

From the ghost’s feet and up, the magician observed medical garb in stark white. She got to the ankles before the spirit disappeared. When it reappeared, it came with a moan. The sound was rattling.

The rattle became a scratch, and soon Morand realized the creature was trying to speak. It disappeared and returned, closer with each fading stalk. As if speaking through ruined lungs, the spectre wailed, “Lucio, why did you do it?”

Head rearing back, Morand parted her lips. By now, she had gotten to the ghost’s face. The apparition stood there as if a mirror had been placed before the magician.

Morand knew those full lips, those piercings. She had seen those fuschia eyes staring back at her with each morning she tamed that curly hair. But… No, no. It couldn’t have been…

_Me?_

Her thought stunned her insides, made her gut drop to her knees. It made no sense. Morand was here. She was alive, crouched on one knee amidst spectral forms, but the shade kept on.

It spoke in her voice, soft and relentless. “You killed me, Lucio. Without thought or hesitation,” it pleaded.

Shivering in his chains, Lucio pulled his knees into his chest. He looked to be on the verge of tears. With his eyes on the folds of his pants, he whispered, “I know. I’m—I’m sorry.” He shuffled his heels on the dirty floor. “I didn’t mean to kill you. I swear.”

Unable to stay silent, Morand barked, “What?! I-I _died_?”

No one paid attention. Lucio stared at the ghost. The ghost stared at him.

When it moved to crouch in front of him, he tried to shrink away. There was nowhere to go. His chains had long since been pulled taut by his attempts at escape.

Studious eyes held the Count down, and the spectral Morand tilted her head at him. “If you didn’t mean to kill me, why did you do it?”

The question was a call to arms. Like ants, the other ghosts surged forwards. They swarmed the three of them as if waiting for Lucio to get within reach.

Just as it had when Morand had first approached, the Lazaret moaned. In a wave of voices, it entreated, “Why? Why did we have to die here?”

Lucio screamed over them all. “No, no! This isn’t happening. You’re not real! Leave me alone.”

Legs adjusted, and Morand sat on her haunches. Just being around so many spirits made her magic dance around her. They were intermittently feeding on her power while fueling it. The fragile lines of necromancy danced within Morand’s body.

Sucking in the electric energy of the dead, Morand looked at the ground. She wasn’t sure if the Count would even be able to hear her, yet she still opened her mouth. “They won’t just go away, you know.”

He flinched at her words, so she pressed, “The dead don't linger without reason.”

Morand knew her statement wasn’t a comfort. Thus, she sat, and she waited for Lucio’s next move. He was still holding his head. His body still quaked in fear. In a trembling voice, he asked, “What reason?”

She shrugged at him. Though she had a good idea, only Lucio would really know the answer to that question. “They’re drawn to you,” she admitted and looked out over the lines of spirits. They’d crowded until Lucio would have to face at least one person. “I don’t know what they want, but it couldn’t hurt to answer them. Could it?”

“I…”

The room was silent. Any pleas faded. The ghosts hung like clouds, a hovering mass of emotions.

When the Count finally looked up, his upper lip quivered in fear. His lips wanted to move, to speak, yet he remained silent. His body swayed in place.

Morand held herself silent, too. She propped an arm on one leg, as eager as the ghosts for whatever explanation Lucio would have for the dead in the room.

Upon his first inhalation, the bubble of silence burst. “I… I was afraid, okay! And I wasn’t the only one.” Hands moved to hold his face, and the chains of his wrist clattered against the hard floor. “The plague was killing everyone! No one knew what to do. I didn’t know what to do.”

He paused and tilted his head back up to peer uncomfortably at the crowd. “You don’t understand. I was Count, and I did what I had to do. If I died of the Plague—”

Morand’s ghost shimmered closer, and Morand peered at it from the corner of her eye. Leaning into Lucio’s face, the spectre wondered, “What you had to do, or what you wanted to do?”

“I-I don’t… I was just so scared. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to disappear and be forgotten.” He looked at the ghost then quickly averted his eyes as if he couldn’t stand the sight of it. “I never thought about the same thing happening to anybody else.”

Perhaps, Morand was seeing things, but her ghost might have smiled? It continued in its haunting interrogation. “Are you still afraid?”

Lucio’s eyebrows scaled his forehead. “Yes. I’ve always been afraid.”

The hazy form of her ghost extended a hand towards Lucio. When it did the same to Morand, she stared at it in confusion.

“Morand?” The Count’s voice was small, barely above a whisper.

It was the encouragement she needed. Reassuring him with a nod, Morand grasped the hand of her… ghost. Soft, fine ashes dusted her palm. While she sat perplexed, Lucio’s tears flowed.

His teeth clamped down until Morand could see a muscle bulging in his jaw. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. It won’t happen again, I promise!” he pleaded.

Reaching out both hands, he clutched the apparition. The words he spoke seemed to be for it and Morand. Hands inked in black markings stroked the Count’s face. Looking into Lucio’s eyes, the ghost inquired, “Never again?”

He burrowed into the form. “Never! I swear!”

With a wistful sigh, Morand’s ghost began to disperse. Shadow and vapor swirled around the two of them. As it drifted, a single statement lingered in the air. “Do not forget.”

One by one, the other ghosts followed. They faded into the crumbling mortar of the Lazaret. They drifted into bursted open floorboards and stone tile. Once they were gone, so were the chains holding the Count.

Lucio reached out and clung blindly onto Morand. Gently, she helped him onto his feet. The tingles of electricity seemed lessened after their trial by spectre. Knees almost giving out, Lucio mumbled, “Ugh. I feel so weird all of a sudden.”

Eyes closed, Morand held him tight. Chains were still falling off his body. Soon, the last one crumbled away in a harsh convulsion.

Once it was gone, Lucio felt warm. He was warm, solid, and— Morand’s eyes flung open of their own volition. Open mouthed, she stared.

Lucio was there. There, there! His opaque hands clutched at his clothing. He patted his palms against his chest. To her, he asked, “I… are you seeing this, too?”

Staring at himself in astonishment, the Count ran his hands down his chest. He spoke in an unbelieving tone. “I’m back? Is this real life? Did you do this?”

Slowly, she shook her head at him. She may have been a necromancer but fully embodying something without a corpse to work with was impossible. She would need a soul _and_ a body. And, maybe, a deal with a demon.

Stunned, she replied, “No. I don’t even know how—”

His arms flung into the air, and he whooped. “I’m actually back! It’s really me!”

Lunging for her, Lucio’s arms wrapped tightly around her. His pounce had her teetering onto her heels. Feet shuffled against a loose floorboard, and she caught herself on a bent bed frame.

It didn’t last. The frame’s corner was curved. Her hand slid down the spindle until they collapsed in a tangle of limbs against a cold wall.

Lucio pushed up on his hands and angled himself off her. “Sorry.”

She smirked. “No, you’re not.”

Sheepishly, his skin heated. “Actually, I kinda forgot about gravity.” Lucio tried to stand up, but his legs splayed out like a newborn foal. Looking up at her, he pouted, “Hm. I hate to admit it, but maybe there were some upsides to being a ghost.”

Morand sat on her haunches. As she rose, she tucked her elbow under his arm. Gently, she lifted him to a sitting position. After a grunt, she explained, “Gravity’s not that hard. You’ll get the hang of it.”

He winked. “I’ll get the hang of it faster if you teach me.”

Instead of trying to stand, he snuck a kiss on her cheek. She rolled her eyes. “Insufferable.”

“You know it.”

Once he was secured in place, she laid two hands on either side of his face. She couldn’t help but revel in the feel of him. He was corporeal, solid, and warm. Patting him down, she asked, “You’re not in any pain, right?”

He scrunched up his face in thought. Fingers idly trailed up her arm like he was amazed he could touch her real body for the first time. “No, I think I’m okay. It just feels weird having a body again.” He paused. “Like, I haven’t had to _breathe_ for three years, and now I gotta do it again.”

She scowled. “You are remembering how to breathe, right?”

“Of course, I am! It isn’t that hard.”

“Uh-huh.” Hands on him, she readied herself to pick his heavy ass up off the floor. “Now, if it’s not that hard, let’s get you on your feet.”

“But what if I fall? Are you gonna catch me?” Smiling broadly, he looped one arm through hers.

Oh, how this man made her feel like a parent. “Not if you do it on purpose.”

He gasped and looked away. “Was I that obvious?” She cocked her hip out then arched a brow. When he gave her a sheepish grin, he finally gave in. “Okay, fine. You win.”

“Damn right I win. Do yourself a favor and remember one important rule.”

“A rule?”

“Mmm. Morand Arache is always right.” She patted him on the ass when he worked to rise up. “Come on, Lucio. Let’s get you standing.”

He had to lean on her for support, but he was getting the hang of it. Soon, he was burying his face in her neck and breathing in the scent of her. Lips moved against her skin. “Oh, you’re nice and warm.”

Once more, she was amazed at this new transformation. Lucio had a body. He was learning how to walk again. Giving him a few moments to bask, she finally cleared her throat. “Are you ready to walk?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure.” Reluctantly, he stood straight beside the magician. He began to fuss with his clothes, opening a button here and adjusting his collar there. Once his shirt was tugged open to reveal his pale chest, he asked, “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?”

Morand parted her lips for a snarky comment when a cloud cast the room in darkness. Suddenly, the Lazaret resumed its haunting visage, and Lucio jumped at the sudden change from light to dark. In the air, his arms pinwheeled.

Steadying him with two hands, Morand commented, “Relax. It’s just a cloud.”

He pulled back. “It’s spooky is what it is.”

When the cloud passed, sunshine filtered back through the holes in the roof, yet it didn’t cure Lucio’s jumpiness. He eyeballed the dark corners of the Lazaret like he was waiting for more ghosts to crop back up. After making sure the coast was clear, he took a few long, quick strides into a hallway.

The loose stones were a conundrum for his new legs. More than once the Count wobbled on his tall boots. He laid a hand on the stones for balance then tore it away warily.

Morand jogged up behind him. “Slow down. Also, I think the exit’s that way.” She pointed down a different hall.

Lucio slowed only a slight bit, just enough to stand at her side. Nervously grinning, he said, “Oh, okay. Uh, how about you lead?”

She nodded, but when she set off, the Count snatched her hand. Morand caught her eyes drifting towards the contact. This was the first time they’d held hands in the real world. His hands weren’t as soft as they’d been back then.

She felt new calluses. She saw a scar atop the skin of his right hand. It looked like a blade had grazed him before sliding harmlessly away. Morand nibbled on her bottom lip. The scar made sense. Lucio had been a mercenary.

Hands locked, Morand guided him over the same walls she’d crawled to get to him. She braced him with her shoulder and caught him when he tripped. It took a few tries, but he eventually relearned how to climb over things. What made it so difficult was the fact that he refused to let go of her hand.

“I think this will be easier if you let go—”

He silenced her with, “Nope.”

Reactively, she frowned at him. “Really?”

“Hey, now. You’re the one who offered to help me, remember?”

He winked. Popping his hip against hers, he draped an arm around her shoulders and chuckled softly. Judging from what she knew of him, it was fear and thankfulness that kept him attached to her with a tick’s enthusiasm.

He made the trip slow going, but they did make it to the point where stone ruins gave way to grass and sand. By the time they reached the shore, Lucio was breathing hard. He used his prosthetic hand to shove sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Whew. Walking’s a lot tougher than I remember,” he admitted.

Morand shook her head at him. “Then slow down. You don’t want to overdo it.”

Nervously, the Count looked over his shoulder. Behind them, the Lazaret continued to loom. It was silent and menacing, still ominous despite the blessing that had gone on within its decaying walls.

With that glance, his smile slid off his face. It was replaced by embarrassed blush. The hand on Morand’s shoulder tightened. Lucio mumbled, “Listen, I… I know a lot just happened. It’s all still a jumble in my head. I just want to get out of here before I have to think about it, you know.”

“That’s fine with me, but we don’t have a way off the island.” She nodded her head to where the gondolier had dropped her off. “The gondolier left with the boat.”

Lucio wasn’t concerned in the slightest. “What are you talking about? I saw a boat when I got dragged here.” Using the clawed tip of his prosthetic, he pointed towards an old pier. It was nearly collapsed from disuse.

True to his word, a single row boat sat there. It rested amidst rotting wood and ashen sand. Huh. Fortunate coincidence.

After popping her lightly on the back, he called, “Race you!” Lucio took off. His weak legs stumbled over driftwood and got tangled in the seaweed littering the shore.

Morand let him go. Unlike the Count, she had already started to process the events of the Lazaret. There, she’d learned that she was… a reincarnate? A zombie?

How had she gotten a body after she’d died? Death wasn’t easily avoided. It came for all things, could kill supposedly immortal creatures. Life was a cycle of give and take, break that circle and the fates tended to get angry. They shut things like that down. Hard and remorselessly.

She rubbed at the hollow feeling in her chest. Was she just living on borrowed time, brought back to life to right the wrong that had been done to her?

Lucio’s cape fluttered in the distance, and she swallowed slowly. Lucio’s actions had killed her. Really, what was a person supposed to do when they learned the guy they’d given an astral blow job to was also the same guy that had killed them three years before said blow job?

Should she be angry? Should she be upset? If she wanted to be honest, she just felt confused. Lucio had known the plague was deadly. Yet, he’d done nothing, just worked to save himself.

Morand ran a hand through her locks and got stuck in a hunk of tangled sweat. She was less upset about her own death than she was about the other citizens of Vesuvia. So many people gone. So many souls lost.

Lucio had been afraid to be amongst their number, thus he had consulted the Devil. Fear could drive a man to desperation, insanity. Could Morand hate Lucio for being afraid of death? No, but she could hate him for killing hundreds.

When the Count turned, a look of hesitation crossed his face. He was standing on the dock. The hand that had been raised to call her over faltered, drooping low.

Not wanting him to see her inner frustration, Morand waved back at him. It repaired a little of the damage her distance had put into his expression, but it wasn’t fixed. Calling to him over the soft crashes of waves, Morand encouraged, “At least, let me row.”

He put two hands on his hips and fake pouted. “Okay. Fine.”

Softly, she smiled at him. Yeah, she wondered if everything would be fine.


	19. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. Domestic scenes warm my little, dead heart. Enjoy Chapter Nineteen!

**Together**

It was much later than they’d expected. Lucio rested with his feet kicked up and his arms stretched out on a bench while Morand rowed. Really, she should have let him do it as thanks for retrieving him, but if she wanted to do something, she wouldn’t stop until she got her way.

He exhaled to the sky. Dusk was setting in fast. The sky was flushed with crimson and gold. By the time they made it back to Vesuvia, the stars would sit heavy overhead.

Vesuvia. The Palace. Eyes slowly closed. He wasn’t ready to go back to the Palace. He didn’t want to see Nadia’s look of disappointment. He didn’t want to be hounded for information by Asra.

Spending more time with Morand would be the best option, and he was ready to bribe her for it. When she breathed out, “So…” He already had a response prepared.

“So… let’s go to your shop. That’s a nice place to relax, right?” He eased forward to sit properly on his bench and watched her reaction.

She raised her dark brows in surprise, and he flashed his teeth in a grin. Suspicious, she asked, “What? You don’t want to go back to the Palace?”

He took a slow breath and watched waves ripple against the brown wood of her oars. “I do, just not right now. I’m still… I mean, I don’t really…” Instead of speaking, she sat there patiently waiting for him to finish.

When he didn’t, she smiled at him. “Ghost got your tongue?”

Immediately, he snorted. “Ha! Oh, that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that.” Sprawling back in the boat, his motion caused the vessel to rock.

When water almost splashed within, Morand yipped, “Hey! Careful!”

He opened a single eye and smirked at her. “It’s your fault for making me laugh.”

She shook an oar at him. “It’s your fault for making me make you laugh.” The water reflected in her eyes as green and blue sparkles. She added, “Besides, you look like a kicked puppy when you’re sad.”

“Whatever you say, Morand.”

Once more, she picked up the oars and resumed rowing. “Just don’t sink us before we get back to the shop. Okay?”

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and let her work. Now that it was quiet, he could think on all that had happened. Lucio winced. He didn’t want to think on all that had happened.

Morand had died as a result of his actions, of his vanity. Lucio had… killed her. The pang of regret that surfaced from the knowledge was like his heart was being stabbed, then the blade twisted.

Had he known she was sick, he would have… A cloud passed overhead and drowned Lucio in shadow. The darkness went along with the direction of his thinking. Back then, Lucio would have done nothing.

Morand was just another assistant, another physician hired to help out against the plague. She had worked for Julian, and Lucio had barely known her other than the handful of times she’d taken care of him. The Count swallowed. It felt like needles in his suddenly dry throat. Had she gotten the plague directly from him, or had it been from someone else?

Something hit the side of the boat. Lucio looked up to see Morand was docking their boat by tying it down with some rope. His responsible magician could do so much, and he had been the one to take her out of the world. Again, he didn’t deserve her.

Filled with the need to hold her close, Lucio wrapped his arms around her waist. She froze on the spot. “Lucio?” she asked.

He didn’t speak, just held her. Gods, what a fool he was. Lying to himself was becoming impossible. He couldn’t believe half the defensive thoughts blocking out his actions. More and more, the Count was growing disgusted with himself.

He didn’t want Morand to know any more. He wanted to keep his secrets, keep them from coloring her impression of him. Already, she should have left him. Why did she stay? What did she see in him?

Soothingly, Morand patted the top of his head. “Come on. We won’t get anywhere if you don’t let me go.”

Shyly, he pulled back. A strand of hair fell into his face, but he couldn’t summon the desire to brush it out of the way. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

When they made it to Morand’s shop, Lucio was struck by how small it was. The building was a basic two story stone store with a wooden sign hung off wrought iron. The sign’s symbol was a familiar serpent wrapped around a bubbling elixir. Quaint.

Though it didn’t suit him, it fit Morand very well. He watched as she fumbled for her keys, looking distinctly nervous. He didn’t get it. They hadn’t passed many people on the way here. Morand seemed to take him down every minor thoroughfare, avoiding any areas where he could get spotted by people.

Walking closer, he asked, “You have keys? I thought you’d wiggle your fingers and magic the door open.”

She curled up a lip. “Magic the door open? Why would I use magic when keys work just fine?”

He waggled his brows at her. “Because it looks cool?”

Shaking her head at him, she pressed her hand to it to unseal some glowing thing then nudged the door open. Lucio was close behind her. Right away, his senses were bombarded by strange sights and smells.

There were herbs drying over a glass case counter. Morand had crystal lamps hung by iron chains and mounts. They turned on when she snapped her fingers. Amazed, he awed, “This is… look at all this stuff!”

He was counting the shelves before strolling towards a basket of weird spiny vine things. His hand reached towards them until she smacked it away. The look on his face was hurt, and she scolded, “Don’t touch those. You’ll feel like you grabbed a hot poker.”

“Oh. Okay.” He leaned in closer to something else that he wasn’t sure what it was. The substance was held in a jar and bright orange. Morand had placed it atop the counter as if she’d been doing something with it before she’d left to come to the Palace. “Then what’s that for?”

She picked it up and turned it to reveal a handwritten label. “It’s marmalade? It’s for breakfast.”

Something shiny and round caught his eye. With the curiosity of a child, Lucio put his face within inches of the possibly magical doohickey. It was made of precious metals. Strange numbers and symbols had been engraved between sweeping arcs of metal.

Hand reaching out to poke it, Lucio asked, “And what about this weird-looking thing?”

Fingers tugged on the fur of his cape, and Lucio was sat down in a plush chair. It was covered in handwoven, colorful throws. Pink tassels abounded on braided strings.

Morand sat the marmalade on a shelf and mentioned, “Maybe, it’s best if you don’t touch anything.” Her fingers slid down the clear jar slowly before she ran her index fingers through a thin layer of dust. “And, well…”

Uh-oh. Lucio didn’t like that tone at all. His fingers dug into the soft arms of Morand’s chair, and he tried as hard as he could to retain a casual posture. It wasn’t easy. The Count’s heart bled for the magician in the room. Disappointing her hurt him like he hurt for no other.

She took moments to think before saying, “So, apparently I died.”

Lucio bit the inside of his bottom lip. There they were, the words he was afraid to hear, and she’d laid them out so easily in a short phrase.

Morand turned around to face him. Her arms were crossed under her breasts like she was preparing for a blow. “That ghost in the Lazaret sounded just like me,” she explained. “It said I died, and you killed me.”

A weight dropped on his shoulders, and Lucio slumped on the spot. Heart cold, his voice was a whisper in the breeze drifting through thinly curtained windows. “It’s the truth, but I didn’t mean to kill you. There’s more to it.”

She uncrossed her arms and moved to the armchair next to him. A small table sat between them with a chipped teacup resting on a painted saucer. Morand barely spared it a glance. Her attention was fully on the man angled to face her.

She spoke, “This sounds like a pretty long story.”

He nodded quietly. “It all started a long time ago before I came to Vesuvia.” Lucio played with the clawed tips on his gauntlet. “You remember those beetles we saw? In that weird magic tundra?”

She nodded at him, so he continued, “Yeah. The thing is, they were real. They followed me everywhere I went. At first, I thought the beetles were just annoying pests, but wherever they showed up, the plague came with them.”

At his confession, Morand’s face remained neutral and unsurprised. She took his measure one word at a time, studying him before reacting. It was unusual, if not a little bit disconcerting.

In a calm voice, she examined, “So you brought the beetles and the plague to Vesuvia?”

He winced at the accusation. “Er, I mean, they followed me, so—”

“Did you know what was happening?”

“No!” he deflected, immediately hesitating afterwards. “Maybe? Sort of. It was a guess, I just never…”

“Thought about it?”

The pain in his heart came back. She was too good at making him feel guilty. Unable to look at her, he curled his fist under his chin. There was an interesting anatomical painting on the wall. To it, he admitted, “I tried not to. Until I got sick, too.”

Morand was quick to understand. “So when those ghosts were hounding you and my ghost said you killed me…”

He peered at her from the corner of his eyes. Her hands were sitting in her lap. She fidgeted by rubbing the pad of her thumb against the nail of her forefinger. It was amazing how she wasn’t raising her voice at him, how she wasn’t enraged.

Lucio would be. Lucio would have taken himself up by the collar of his vest and bludgeoned himself with his bare fists.

Begrudgingly, he admitted, “I… you died of the plague, three years ago. You and everyone else quarantined at the Lazaret.” And he had given the order. Gods, that… that made it hard to breathe.

Irritated, Lucio threw his hands to his head and mused his hair at the sides. “Augh! Why is this so hard? Why do I feel so awful?”

He wanted someone to tell him that everything was okay, that all could be forgiven. Grey eyes sought Morand on reflex. He moved to hold her but quickly pulled back. She wouldn’t accept him. She  _ shouldn’t  _ accept him.

He had the blood of hundreds on his hands. He was a murderer, a fool. Why would anyone comfort him when self-loathing had finally made itself known in his heart?

Body slumped until he rested his elbows on his knees. With his hands holding up his forehead, he spoke, “I mean, I feel bad, but you…” He looked at her impassive face. “You must feel terrible.”

* * *

Strangely, she… didn’t? The idea that she had died and come back to life felt right. It explained her draw to spaces built as memorials to those of the Red Plague. It also explained all the anatomical drawings that Asra had hid from her each time she came upon one.

With a tight smile, Morand realized Lucio was making an effort. In a nonchalant tone, she commented, “Well, it’s not every day you learn that you died and came back.”

“That’s something we have in common, right? You’re in good company!” he attempted to soothe. The grin on his face was uncertain, though. When she arched a brow at him, he blushed pink all over. “I’m not very good at this, but… I’m sorry, Morand. You didn’t deserve to die because of me. I don’t know what else to say.”

Studying her hands, Morand replied, “This is… a lot to unpack.”

“But we’re still in it together, right? Like you said before?” His words came quickly. With his eyes pleading, he sat on the edge of his chair.

The Count was at his most fragile right now. Too easily, Morand’s words could destroy all the progress they’d been making together. Despite everything, she didn’t want that to happen. She wanted Lucio to repent and start working on a better version of himself. He was already doing it. Morand could be there to support him, but he was the only one who could do the work. That was how healing processed itself.

Besides, as she’d thought before, she wasn’t as upset about her death as she was the deaths of others. She was more interested in how the hell she’d come back to life. Unfortunately, that was a topic for another day. She didn’t think she needed anymore life altering information tonight.

When the Count turned up one hand in offering, a flicker of warmth spread inside Morand’s chest. She took his palm and drew it up to kiss Lucio’s scarred hand. “Yeah. Together,” she agreed.

Their moment was heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions. When the Count’s stomach gave a loud rumble, the magician and Lucio sat upright in their places. Hands laid against his abdomen. Eyes wide, Lucio breathed, “Oh, that’s right! I can eat now. I have to eat now!”

As ever, the previous subject was forgotten completely, and Lucio continued his tangent. Leaning towards her, the Count asked, “Got anything tasty around here?”

Hesitantly, Morand admitted, “The kitchen’s upstairs, but—” Lucio leaped from his spot and started running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Morand raced after him. “I haven’t been shopping in a while!”

By the time she caught up with him, he had his head stuck in the pantry. His hands moved boxes aside, scavenging for something to snack on. As he searched, he mused, “Let’s see. Flour, sugar, mints, garlic…” Lucio pulled back to frown at strange vegetation. “Weird mushrooms, spices, and bread?”

Putting the fungi down, he grabbed a chunk of rock sugar. He popped it into his mouth and let the substance melt against his tongue before chomping down. With eyes closed in pleasure, he licked his pink lips.

The flavor made his brows shoot towards his forehead. “Oh! I know. We could make cookies! I love cookies.”

As if she could forget. When they’d been in the parlor, he’d been all but drooling over the almond biscuits. Now that he could eat, of course cookies were the first thing on his mind.

Morand moved in. When the Count began pulling things out willy-nilly, she gaped in horror. He’d brought the mushrooms back out, grabbed some paprika, and sat it next to the flour. Oh, now that was just nasty.

Snatching a hair tie off a nearby table, Morand twisted her hair into a hasty bun. She joined Lucio at the kitchen counter. Picking up the mushrooms, she asked, “You know how to bake cookies?”

“I watched someone else do it once. It can’t be that hard.”

The magician smirked. Just as she’d thought.

To her left, a hinge squeaked. Lucio was rummaging through the cabinets now. He stood on his tiptoes to get a better look at the higher shelves. “Morand, do you have a bowl around here?”

While his back was turned, Morand quickly shoved garlic and mushrooms back into the pantry, along with the paprika. She replaced them with a few better ingredients. When he returned, he held ceramic in his hands. He didn’t even notice what she’d swapped.

“Nevermind! This’ll work instead.” Then, he proceeded to pour a whole bag of flour into a teapot. “Whoops!” A fine cloud of white flour dusted around him. It clung to his clothes and hands.

Morand waved it out of the way and coughed at the remnants that tried to sneak into her nose. When she looked through the flour haze, she suppressed a laugh. The Count had gotten flour into his face, all over his clothes.

Frowning, he grumbled, “Why’s this stuff so… floaty?”

Morand spun him by the shoulders and marched him towards the kitchen table. “Out, out! Out of my kitchen!”

“Huh? What? Why?”

She grabbed a rolling pin and pointed it inches from his straight nose. “My playground, my rules. Either obey them, or take your balls elsewhere.” Once she was certain he would sit still, she snatched up a rag, doused it in water then rubbed down the counter. As she scrubbed, she said, “I’ll take care of ingredients. In the meantime, you can start the oven.”

“Oven?”

Morand froze in her cleaning. Blinking at him, she spoke slowly. “Yeah. We need a hot oven to bake with.”

He rubbed the back of his head with his gauntlet. “Oh. Er, ha. I thought ovens were always hot.”

Somehow, she resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Who in the world didn’t teach their kid how to use an oven? How the hells did Lucio not realize that flour did  _ not  _ go in a teapot?

Oh, she and Morga needed to have words. The man was almost in his forties and didn’t know how to cook for himself. How had he lived this long?

With a cautious eye, Morand watched the Count approach the oven. Gingerly, he poked at it. She closed one eye for patience. When nothing happened from his prodding, the Count kicked the oven with a huff.

He put two hands on his hips. “How does this thing even work?” To the oven, he yapped, “Turn on, already— Whoa!”

A puff of smoke flew out before sparks flew from the opened oven door. In the midst of the grey haze, an irritated squeak cried out. Slowly, the smoke parted. Two eyes glowed orange in the darkness, blinking blearily from the oven’s depths.

“What was that?” the Count yipped.

Lucio backed up and bumped Morand’s hip. The movement jostled the flour and butter she was mixing. Her spoon almost bounced from the mixing bowl before she snatched it.

Setting back to her task, Morand folded the flour over the butter before reaching for some eggs. As she cracked them on the side of the bowl, she mentioned, “Oh, that’s our stove salamander.” She gave him a little wave, and the lizard blinked back.

Grumbling in his domain, the salamander kept his eyes on the Count. He was wary. His tail flicked back and forth in blurs of orange. Lucio stared right back at it.

“Uh, okay. Stove salamander. That’s… something.”

She smiled over her bowl. “You should introduce yourself to him.”

“Morand, that thing spat sparks all over me!” Lucio protested, a hand on his chest.

From within the oven, there was a cough of smoke. It rolled from the salamander’s maw in a sound reminiscent of laughter.  _ Cheeky lizard,  _ Morand thought. To Lucio, she suggested, “I think you just gave him a fright. Try apologizing.”

Reluctance slowed Lucio’s movements. He looked at her like she was a madwoman before getting onto his hands and knees. Grey eyes peered into the oven, and Morand noticed something about the man.

The sclera of his eyes were clear of the plague’s stain. The red, bloodshot eyes he normally bore had been cleaned in his embodying. Morand nibbled her bottom lip. Did that mean Lucio no longer had the plague?

“Uh, hi there, Mr. Salamander,” broke her focus. Morand slowed in her stirring to see Lucio addressing the little salamander. “I’m Lucio.”

Hand stretched out, he reached for the creature. Cautiously, it toddled forward on stubby legs. Snout raised, the salamander sniffed him disdainfully. That tail continued to twitch behind him.

“Sorry about kicking the door open. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Lucio eased nearer. “I just wanted some cookies.”

Curiously, the salamander tilted his head back and forth. He blinked a total of three times then creeped towards the edge of the oven. A long, ribbed tongue flicked out at the Count’s fingers.

Lucio encouraged, “Hey, do you like cookies? You can have one when we’re done baking.” Gingerly, the salamander crawled onto Lucio’s palm. Little footprints pressed into the man’s bare skin.

When he got a good look at the creature, he drew it closer with two hands. “Oh, you’re  _ adorable! _ Morand, why didn’t you mention that?”

Cooing over his new friend, Lucio rubbed the salamander’s glowing nose. All across the creature’s body were markings of gold and orange. He was painted up like the flames he spat.

Pleased with the attention, the salamander’s eyes glowed brighter. His mouth opened on a toothy grin. With a final twitch of his tail, the salamander looped the appendage around the pinky finger of Lucio’s gauntlet before curling up.

Morand watched the two of them with fondness warming her heart. The Count truly did love his animals. They weren’t just trophies to him. She proposed, “There. Now, try asking him to light a fire.”

Eyes on the salamander, Lucio asked, “Do I have to? Can we just, you know, hang out for a bit?”

Chuckling to herself, Morand leaned over to kiss Lucio on the top of his soft, blonde head. He peered up at her innocently. “Sure. I’ll finish the cookie dough.”

With Lucio distracted, it was a lot easier for Morand to get her work done. She busied herself with scattered ingredients. She had the standard fare of flour, sugar, eggs, and butter, but cookies needed more than that in her opinion.

Movement came from behind her, and Morand felt the Count nearby. He had risen quietly so not to disturb his sleeping companion. The salamander was quite content in the cradle of Lucio’s palms. Leaning in, the Count looked over her shoulder.

With a childishness in his innocent question, he asked, “Are you adding chocolate? I love chocolate! And honey, sugar, jam, syrup…”

Morand nodded heartily. “Oh, yeah. The sweeter the better.”

“You get it, Morand.”

After securing the salamander in his right palm, he reached into the ingredients he’d pulled out. From the messy pile, he snagged some chocolate. Right as he tossed it into the air for his awaiting mouth, Morand grabbed his hand.

“Hey! Save some for the cookies,” she scolded.

Lucio grinned remorselessly. Dipping away from her, he grabbed more chocolate and snapped a piece off. When she tried to chase him, he pressed it to her lips. He offered, “Here.”

Tongue out, she licked the skin of his fingers before wrapping her lips around the chocolate. Her teeth held it in a grin, and she snapped her head back to pull the candy inside her mouth. Covering her chewing mouth with her hand, she commented, “You and the salamander should get that oven heated. The dough will be ready soon.”

“We’re on it! Let’s do this Mr. Salamander.”

Morand smiled to herself when the Count marched off with his new friend in tow. He got on one knee to let the creature slither back to his den, and soon, a flame was lit. Lucio shut the door a lot more gently than he’d opened it.

“Now what?” he asked.

The magician pulled a cutting board out of a cabinet. When she followed it with a large knife, the Count’s eyes grew wide. He stared amazed as she shaved the chocolate down to more manageable pieces.

“Now, you’re going to stir the bowl while I add more ingredients,” she explained. A little magical warmth across the bowl’s side helped the chocolate to melt.

Ever eager to impress, Lucio took command at the mixing station. He gripped the wooden spoon she’d been using to fold and set right to work. His movements were harsh, slinging cookie dough mix high up the sides of the bowl right when she added the chocolate.

Laughing, she grabbed the bowl he was manhandling. “No, Lucio. Slower. And fold the mix in at the edges. You don’t want it to be half stirred.”

“How will I know when I’m done stirring?”

“When the mix isn’t lumpy anymore. We want it smooth to pour onto the pan.”

“Pan?”

She made a sound of agreement then dipped to reach into a cubby hole. Metal clanged together until she fished out a cookie sheet. Placing it on the counter, she noticed a small bag of marshmallows sitting next to some caramel. Oh, now that would be nice together.

As she greased the pan with butter, Lucio tutted, “Why does this stuff take so long? I wanna just snap my fingers and then  _ poof  _ cookies!”

Morand hid her lips behind the jar of caramel. “You aren’t having fun with me?”

Immediately, the Count started backpedaling. Looking flustered, he grumbled, “You know what I mean. I’m hungry, and this feels like it’s taking forever—Mmm!”

Without a second thought, Morand had dipped her finger into the caramel. Shoving the sweet covered appendage into Lucio’s forever moving jaws had been a simple feat. At once, his lips circled her finger. His tongue lapped at the caramel.

“We can always lick the batter bowl clean as a snack,” she suggested, but Lucio wasn’t listening.

His eyes were closed, and when she tried to pull her hand back, he gripped her wrist. Mixing bowl forgotten, Lucio slowly removed her finger from the wet depths of his mouth. His eyes were heavy lidded, almost sleepy, but his body wasn’t.

Sensually, his gauntlet slid from her wrist to her shoulder. He used his grip to turn her back to the counter then caged her small body until her backside bumped the countertop. When her clean hand came up between them, she breathed “Lucio?”


	20. Accept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello. My long awaited chapter is here (well, long awaited for myself because something about insecurity and highly intimate situations just makes me go all squishy inside with cute feelings). I edited and edited the mess out of this chapter in hopes that it flows with the overall theme of the plot and isn't too rushed or breaks the atmosphere of the related situations. Tell me if I failed or succeeded in the comments if you please.
> 
> [WARNING] This chapter is mostly nothing but smut. There is explicit sexual content ahead with mention of genital piercings which may be disturbing to some people. Enjoy!

**Accept**

Sparkling fuschia eyes, glistening pink lips, and the taste of caramel put into his mouth. If Lucio had known someone like this had been available for him to take, he would have turned into a ghost a lot sooner. As things stood, he lifted Morand on top of her kitchen counter.

The jar of caramel teetered where her fingers had dropped it, and he decided it was his turn to play. Tilting his head, he pressed his lips to hers. As ever, her lips were soft and giving against his.

She didn’t refuse his touch. In fact, she welcomed it. The invitation was followed by a tilting of his hips, pressing him closer. He couldn’t stop himself from a languid glide against her body.

Gasping when Lucio put two hands on the tops of her thighs, Morand’s little claws sunk into his shoulders. He moved his mouth away from her lips to her jawline and onto her neck. Into her ear, he whispered, “Are you okay with this?”

“Mmhm,” she muttered.

It was the permission he needed. Gently, he spread her legs apart to wedge his narrow hips between them. Though Lucio had never seen them unclothed, he knew Morand’s thighs would be exquisite. They were thick, cradling his hips as if they’d been made for him and him alone.

He shivered. That kind of thinking could make a guy go mad with want, and oh, how he wanted. Lucio wanted her understanding, her forgiveness, and her love. The woman was loyal to her master. Lucio wanted her to be loyal to him, too.

Savoring the feel of her body, he moved his hands across the soft fabric of her pants, up to their ribbed waistband, and onto her abdomen. “Lay back,” he encouraged.

When she did, he grinned. “That’s my good girl.” In reward, he swirled his index finger into the caramel. Once it was covered up to the second knuckle, he drew it up to Morand’s lips. Dark orange slipped down towards his hands when he commanded, “Lick.”

She snickered. Though red was suffusing the color of her warm brown face, she teased, “Is that an order?”

“Did it sound like a question?”

On a smirk, she wetted her full mouth with a dart of that pointed tongue. There was a flash of gold, and the Count awed at the little barbell that had been pierced through Morand’s tongue. Two balls of gold rested on it, one above and another below. Although Lucio had seen it before, he was still amazed the magician would pierce herself. It was a mark of ownership in so many cultures, yet she wore hers with pride.

He’d loved the way that metal had felt running along the underside of his shaft in the magical realms. If it had felt that good in an astral body, there was no telling how talented his magician would be in bed.

In Vlagnagog’s name, he wanted her in his bed. There was no telling what the Devil wanted from him. There was no telling what danger they would face in these next few days before the masquerade.

When she had cleaned his finger like a kitten to a bowl of cream, Lucio used a grip on her hips to pull her in closer. The apex of her groin met the lowest part of his abdomen. She was hot there, a little forge between the layers separating them.

“Morand, I want to—”

A bell chimed. Instantly, the magician leaped from her spot. Her head hit the underside of the cabinet, and she hissed harshly in pain. Slapping her hand over where she’d smacked her head into the cabinet’s corner, Morand barked, “Ah, fuck me!”

Blindly, she patted the counter. Her hand found a dish towel sitting just a few inches away from the sink. When she pulled her hand away from her injury, Lucio blinked at blood. Just how hard had she hit herself?

All of the sexual tension he’d worked toward fizzled away within seconds, and he had to widen his stance from the tightness in his pants. The Count didn’t need to look down to know he was sporting a rather enthusiastic bulge, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it as Morand flopped around in front of him.

Once more, the bell went off. 

Morand waved a hand at him. “The oven, Lucio. Could you get it while I—ah. Damn, that hurt!”

Nervously, Lucio jumped towards the oven. As he bent to get the door, he tactfully reached into the waistband of his pants. Just as he’d thought, his cock wasn’t ready to leave the scene of the accident. Head wound or not, little Lucio wanted back against the warmth of Morand’s body.

“Go away,” he growled.

“Go away? This is my house.”

To his horror, Morand was standing over him. She had found the time to pour cookies onto the baking sheet while he sat there talking to his genitals. Leaning over, she asked, “What are you doing?”

Hand frozen where he held himself, Lucio couldn’t stop the anxious laugh that left his mouth. If he moved, Morand would know exactly what he had been trying to hide underneath the oven door.

With her foot, she nudged him out of the way. “If you’re worried about me smacking my head, don’t. I can trip on air. Now, move it. You’re letting all the heat out of the oven.”

Her eyes caught the arm he was hiding and travelled down. With a grin creeping up the corner of her face, she asked, “Whatcha got there?”

“Uh-ha, ha. Nothing. Why?” He cleared his throat. “So, are you gonna put the cookies into the oven or not? I’m starving.”

Leaning over him, Lucio felt her breasts brush over his shoulder. She slid the cookies into the oven, and his cock pulsed in his palm. When her hand found the handle of the oven door, the Count swallowed hard. A little to the right, and she’d feel the back of his hand. If she felt that, she’d know.

Still over him, Morand whispered, “I’ve found that tucking my cock into the waistband of my pants is a convenient way to hide a boner.”

Agh! She knew!

Popping the oven door closed with the side of her fist, Morand snickered where the Count’s hand was still frozen in place. Casually, she slithered her hands down the front of his vest. She slipped a palm into his pants. As if she were making some grand discovery, she purred, “And what do we have—Oh! Why, Lucio, if I knew you were carrying a bat around, I would have been a lot less afraid of the Devil.”

Her delicate fingers wrapped around his shaft, and Lucio’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Morand had him by the cock. He hoped she wouldn’t let him go.

Sticky remnants of cookie dough were cold along the length of him. The mild chill combined with the warm sheath of her palm was enough to make his jaw go slack. Her right breast rested atop his shoulder when she continued to slide downwards.

To tease him, she tapped the tip of one sharp nail against the underside of his balls. “Team’s all here,” she taunted. “But, where did we leave our pitcher?”

A single eye popped open. Pitcher?  _ He  _ was the pitcher.

He must have spoken out loud because Morand nuzzled the side of her face against his ear. “Please, Lucio, we both know how much you like to receive.”

His lips curled. She’d thrown down the gauntlet. It was about time the magician got what she deserved.

Twisting on the floor, Lucio wrapped his arms around Morand’s shapely thighs. He shoved his upper body forward, and she went down with a squeak. Pop! She landed flat on her voluptuous backside.

Forehead resting on hers, he asked, “Was that a challenge?” When she tried to wriggle out from beneath him, he clamped her wrists to the wooden floor.

Defiantly, she pressed upwards. It thrust her breasts against his chest. By all means, she could keep fighting like that. All of her soft curves pressing into him just got him even more excited.

Fingers snapped beneath his wrist, and Lucio looked to where something was being ratcheted around. He found movement on top of her counter. She was using telekinesis to turn backwards the dial on a metal contraption.

Once that task was completed, she explained, “You have ten minutes before that bell goes off again.”

Lucio showed her every tooth he had in his confident grin. “I can get you off in five.”

Though she grinned back, she held up a single finger. “One rule, though.” A rule? His brows drew inwards in confusion. Why would she have rules? “No sex.”

_ Excuse me, what? _ That was the whole point of his attempt to seduce her. There was no telling what they were going to face in the coming days. They might not have a chance to sneak off like this until the Masquerade ended.

Deadpan, he repeated, “No sex.”

With the way Lucio reacted to her qualifier, someone would have thought Morand had said he wasn’t allowed to buy candy before they left the markets. All the excitement in his expression eased into perplexity. The hips that had been rhythmically moving against her stopped completely.

Biting the inside of her lip, Morand avoided the Count’s face to look at the ceiling. It wasn’t like she didn’t  _ want  _ to have sex with Lucio. It was more along the lines of how she wasn’t sure how she’d  _ react  _ to sex with Lucio.

Back when they’d been in the magical realms for the first time, her fear had shifted her to her natural shape. Intense emotions and all that. But fear wasn’t the only intense emotion she had in her magic diffusing arsenal.

More than once Morand had tried to seal the deal with a sexual partner only to be spurned when her orgasm caused her runes to activate. Not many people reacted well when their partner suddenly sprung a dick or vagina in the middle of intercourse, and those that did tended to treat her as a fetish icon.

So, yeah. No sex. Not until she was one hundred percent certain that Lucio would not be able to give her an orgasm worth shapeshifting for.

As soon as Lucio’s grin dropped, it bounced right back up. Pulling Morand’s belly top and bralette up, the Count replied, “Alright then. No sex.”

“W-what are you doing?”

“Exposing your pretty breasts.” Once he had her clothing pushed up against her collarbone, he slid fingers across the slopes of her chest. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand tweaked a nipple as his gauntlet chilled the curves of her left breast. “Look at them. It’s unlawful to have a body like yours covered up all the time.”

He winked at her. “Good thing a Count has jurisdiction over his city. I can make it illegal for you to wear a top ever again.”

Toes curling in her sandals, Morand taunted, “Wouldn’t that be a gross misuse of your legal authority?”

Slowly, the Count leaned down. He breathed hot air across the pebbling skin of a nipple, warming it before licking the tip. “I do what I want.” On that growl, he closed his lips across her breast to give her a light suck.

Releasing her with a popping sound, he continued to caress her with his lips. The topside of one gauntlet claw traced the runic symbol of the moon that had been inked into her chest then followed the curves up. Over and over again, he licked and teased her flesh with tongue, lips, and teeth.

By the time he made it to her lips, Morand was shivering with want. A metal thumb laid against her bottom lip. Lucio was readying to kiss her, and even though he’d brazenly stated that all it’d take to get her off was five minutes, the Count was taking his time.

“Ever since I saw your tattoos, I’ve daydreamed about following each line with my tongue,” he admitted. Tilting his head the least bit, he leaned down. His hot breath fanned across her mouth. The Count smelled like chocolate cookie batter and caramel. Would he taste as sweet as he smelled?

Moving her leg against his, Morand reminded, “The clock’s ticking, and I don’t think you have time for that.”

“Another time then.” Head dipping down, Lucio took her mouth. His lips were so warm and pliant. They pressed into hers when she deepened the kiss.

Lazily, the Count’s tongue teased the rim of her bottom lip. He nipped the skin. When his mouth was made available for her, she slipped her tongue between his lips. On a groan, he sucked her.

His tongue played with the barbell of gold in her mouth. Remembering her daring statement from earlier, Morand slid her leg between his. Hardness pressed against her inner thigh, taunting her with what she couldn’t yet have.

Grinning into his skin, the magician decided to take a little frustration out on the Count. She pressed her right hand into his shoulder. She lifted up with her bent leg. In a quick flip, she had Lucio on his back and wide eyed.

“Mor, you—”

“Shut up.”

Morand silenced him by ripping wide the material of his vest. Creamy, white skin was on display. Stray scars from days spent warring beneath a mercenary banner decorated his chest and torso. While some may see the scars as hideous, raised marks born of violence, Morand found them sexy.

Lucio may have gotten them for all the wrong reasons, but if he hadn’t fought, he wouldn’t have survived this long. If he hadn’t sinned, she wouldn’t have him beneath her right now, and by her gods, she liked where he laid.

Flinging her bralette and shirt off to the corner of the kitchen, Morand worked on unbuttoning Lucio’s clothes. Her hands were clumsy in her rush. They tumbled over buttons, and the Count was quick to catch onto her desires.

“Want you naked,” she growled.

When his vest got stuck on the raised armor of his prosthetic arm, he made quick work of removing plates. Metallic tings struck the air as one by one his pauldron, guards, and claws hit the floor. Without those pieces of armor, the white light of his prosthetic glowed just as vibrantly as her runes when activated.

She paused only to nip the skin below his belly button before proceeding with her strip. The action made the muscles in his abdomen ripple. She watched in amazement at the flexing ridges of his torso. My, her Count was well-defined.

He had lean, narrow hips and a body that didn’t hold a spare ounce of flesh. From his shoulders to his waistline, everything was so tight she could bounce coins off him. She wanted to see more. She  _ would  _ see more.

Inching down him on her knees, Morand unlaced the ties beneath the waistband of his breeches. He leaned up on one arm to worship her throat. “And you’re sure we can’t have sex?” he breathed against her.

“Mmhm.” As she worked, he reached around to yank off his boots. The heels struck against the floor in their frantic work, and soon Morand found herself scooted against a wall. Somehow, they had made it across the kitchen.

Pressing her shoulders into the plaster, Lucio got on his knees in front of her. He was fully naked, and Morand was breathless at the sight. She didn’t know what part of him she admired more, the muscled abdomen, his defined thighs, or the set of shoulders that somehow got broader when he took his clothes off. When a part of him came into view between his legs, she made up her mind.

Eagerly, Morand reached for his cock, but right as her fingers skimmed the smooth skin of his shaft, he grabbed her wrist. “Nuh uh. You had your fun last time.” He reached around to put an arm around the backs of her knees and flung her legs out in front of her. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Two hands fisted along the loose fabric against her thighs then yanked. In a smooth motion, Morand was left with nothing but a tiny bit of fabric over her mons. When Lucio’s grey eyes found it, he let out a low rumble from his chest.

“Mine,” he purred. Forcefully, he grabbed onto her hips to pull her underneath him. Though his claws were gone, the black lace of her underwear was no barrier. With two hands and a little force, he’d ripped apart one thin strip and bared her to his starved expression.

In her short memory, Morand had seen a lot of facial expressions during sexual encounters. Some people were passionate. Others were cuddly. What she saw in Lucio’s eyes made her swallow hard. The Count of Vesuvia looked absolutely ravenous when he eyed the place between her thighs.

Without warning, he pressed his face between her legs. His hands were tight on the curves of her ass, bringing her body into his. When he found a hidden piercing low on her body, he gave an anguished groan. “Here, too?” he gasped.

Lucio’s magician was perfect. As he laid the flat of his tongue to the honey on her entrance, he felt warm metal against him. He hadn’t believed his eyes when he’d seen it, a little golden bar above and below her clit. Two balls of gold on each end.

It taunted him, begging him to suck it, and who was Lucio to deny such a plea? Enthusiastically, he obliged her. The tip of his tongue went around the rim before he wrapped his lips around it and applied the sweetest suction.

The action made Morand go wild. Her hand flew to the top of his head as if magnetized. He half expected her to pull him back, but she didn’t. Instead, she tunnelled her fingers through his hair, gripped him tight, and pressed him down.

It was ecstasy. How had he lived this long without this fierce magician warming his bed night after night? How could someone that matched his lusts so well have walked around his city without him having a clue?

It was a fatal error on his part, one that he was remedying at this very moment. Lavishing her pussy with a kiss born of all the lust he’d previously been denied, Lucio sank his fingertips into Morand’s supple skin. When she began rocking on his tongue, he grew lightheaded.

She was loving this. She loved his tongue, his body, and his kiss. With his eyes closed in bliss, he felt the same.

Her taste was addictive. It was dark, rich, and had the bite of spice. If he had to go a day without it, he might lose his mind. Again, his wandering thoughts begged him to keep her. Again, he agreed with the suggestion.

The pressure in his balls was building with each writhe on his tongue, but he wasn’t ready to go off yet. Morand had pleasured him in the magical realms. It was his turn to pleasure her.

Releasing his metal hand, he maneuvered until he had it poised against her lips. There, the coolness of the metal warmed against her skin. He brushed the backs of two fingers against gathering moisture. Curious, grey eyes looked up as he slowed his pace on her drenched pussy. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, and she saw it.

Without hesitation, she nodded her head for him, and he grinned. Gods, she was gorgeous. Forever, he would remember the sight of Morand in the throes of pleasure, his pleasure. Her face was flushed. Her breasts quivered above him, the tattoos dancing on every movement.

When he sank a single finger inside of her, her eyes slid shut. Full lips parted on panting breaths. “Yes, Lucio. Yes, yes, yes,” she begged.

Returning to kiss her, Lucio sucked the little bud that was her clitoris. If she had been wild earlier, now she was crazed. Back bowing, she arched against the wall. Her moans drew out as he worked her body with his finger.

In and out, he thrust. Making a come here gesture, he curled that finger inside of her. There was a little spot in the hot channel he delved. Once he found it, he pressed. He twisted. He stroked.

Her body clenched around him. Her thighs held him in place, as if he’d ever leave. “Gonna make you scream,” he rumbled to her core.

“More, Lucio. Harder. Pleasepleaseplease!”

“More?” he teased, slowing his pace.

She bared her teeth at him. “Bastard,” she snarled.

“Hey! I was a planned baby. Thank you very much.”

“Ugh! Stop talking and start fucking already.” She raised her hips up to do everything herself. The sight of her working herself on his hand almost had him spontaneously coming against the kitchen floor. His magician would chase her pleasure whether he gave it to her or not? So. Fucking. Hot.

Swallowing, Lucio added a second finger and twisted. Her legs thrashed. There was a smack against the wall, and Morand pitched herself around. His fingers slipped from her soaked sheath. In the span of a blink, the magician had topped him.

Her dripping pussy was above his mouth, and a heat enveloped his cock. He stared shocked when a line of feminine moisture trailed from her lips down her brown thighs. He had done that to her. He had driven her wild.

Turned on to a dizzying degree, Lucio gripped her ass and threw her against his mouth. Their sixty-nine position allowed her to suck and him to lick. Both of them thrust against the other’s mouth.

She was perfect on his cock, against his lips. As he made out with her pussy, she sucked until he felt the back of her throat. Wanting her to desire him as he did her, he reached up to pinch her clit. Vibrations from her low moan tortured him.

It didn’t take long before his balls drew tight. His orgasm was climbing up his shaft before he was ready! No, he wanted more. He wanted to draw this out forever. He wasn’t ready to—

She did something absolutely sinful. A finger pressed the tender spot just behind his balls, and Lucio released her with a roar. “Yes! Oh, fuck me. Mor, oh hell. You’re making me—Morand, you’re making me come!”

When the first jet of his semen erupted, Lucio thrust two fingers deep inside his woman. Her sharp nails bit into his ankles. Her stomach muscles clenched. The groan he’d been working from her lips raised pitch. On a punishing thrust, he had her screaming on his cock.

Then, something happened. A link of runes began to glow. Powerful magic filled the air. It sent the hair on the back of his neck rising, and the body he was frantically licking at began to change.

Morand’s thighs got slimmer. The hips Lucio was gripping narrowed. By the time he figured out what was going on, he had a long, hard shaft on his tongue. What had been a wave of feminine orgasm turned abruptly to semen shot straight down the Count’s throat, and he groaned between swallows.

_ Heaven. Ecstasy. Please, never end. _ All of his thoughts were half-made, his mind scrambled by one talented, pointed tongue. Lucio was in the middle of savoring Morand’s orgasm when the weight atop him disappeared.

* * *

_ No, no, no!  _ Morand scolded herself.  _ Oh, you big stupid idiot! You knew this would happen. You knew, and you still—Ugh! _

Face burning crimson, Morand snatched her pants from the floor and darted out of the room. The bathroom was a quick dash down a short hallway. Slamming its door shut behind her, she threw herself against it and slid onto the cold tiles.

Head in her hands, she bit down on her bottom lip until she was sure blood would well. In Arache’s name, what had she been thinking? She knew better than to lose control during an orgasm.

It never ended well. Morand had been slapped, kicked, spit at, and so much worse because she’d lost control. All it had taken was three times before she’d decided to strike out completely. Three partners, and she’d lost all confidence in herself.

Now, she finally had someone she was attracted to on more than a one night stand level, and she’d transformed mid orgasm. Lucio had to be disgusted with her! She… she thought she might have come in his mouth! And if he wasn’t disgusted, he had to be some kind of sexual deviant.

She didn’t want Lucio to hate her. More than that, Morand didn’t want to be used for her sex shifting. She’d gone down that road before, and it was a thousand times worse than being punched in the mouth for changing parts.

Curling in tight, Morand tried to activate her runes but couldn’t. Her mind wasn’t stable enough for a transformation. Besides, altering one’s self took a lot more magic than a little spiritual telekinesis or otherworldly communication with the Arcana. She would be stuck like this for hours.

Beyond the door, a bell chimed. Morand heard footsteps, and her heart beat against her ribcage. Lucio was still here! He hadn’t run out of the house screaming? He wasn’t going to slam his fist against the door and demand she explain herself?

Disgusted with herself, Morand put her fingers in her long hair and took deep, calming breaths. It didn’t exactly help. Each breath was shaky. Her eyes stung with tears ready to overflow.

Vaguely, she heard metal smacking against metal. “Shut up, you stupid thing,” Lucio grumbled. There was a scratching, some ticking, and a door squeaked on its hinges. “Oh, fuck! That’s hot. Damn it, ow.”

What in the… Morand’s brows drew in tight. Lucio was getting the cookies out of the oven? By the sound of things, he wasn’t doing a good job of it. She heard more hissing, a bit more cursing.

“Why is this thing so h-h-hot!” A pan clattered against something. “Mmm! Bitch motherfucking bitch bitch.”

Despite her existential dread, Morand found herself cracking open the bathroom door. When she got it open enough to peer into the kitchen, she saw Lucio buck ass naked in front of the stove. The Count was nursing his right hand in his prosthetic while sucking on a finger. The cookies were resting on a pan atop her counter.

He wasn’t diving for his clothes? He wasn’t trying to break the bathroom door down to beat the hell out of her?

On her hands and knees, she watched Lucio shake his burnt fingertips then fiddle around in the cabinets. There was a lot of unseen clattering, and he had his pert ass stuck in the air as he checked out the lower cabinets before finding a plate. “Ah-ha!” he sounded.

Confused, Morand wiped away one stubborn tear that had been determined to get loose of her hold. Lucio had his backside to her as he picked up a few cookies with his metal hand then sat it on the plate. Curiously, he tilted his head at the jar of caramel they’d been fooling around with. After a shrug, he slapped a heaping glob onto the cookies.

When he turned to make way towards the bathroom, Morand jolted in her spot. Hastily, she sealed the door back shut. She twisted to lock it.

This was… strange. No one had ever acted so calm after she’d transformed around them. Lucio was just—

A knock sounded on the door. Wincing at the sound, Morand tried to make her voice more high pitched. Unfortunately, her male vocal chords made it sound like a squeaky rat when she said, “Morand isn’t here right now. Please, leave a message.”

“Uh, okay then. Erm, this is Count Lucio. Cookies are done.” He paused and tried the door knob. Morand could just imagine the frown on his face when he realized it was locked. “Mor, come on out. I don’t wanna eat by myself.”

Frowning, Morand turned to face the door. Slowly, she swallowed. Her heart was still fluttering like a trapped hummingbird, but this had to have been the oddest situation she’d ever been in. Letting her voice go back to its normal depth, she whispered, “You’re… you’re not mad at me?”

Lucio snorted. “Mad at you for giving me the best orgasm I’ve ever had?” The plate tinged when it was sat down. “Uh, yeah. Actually. I am mad.”

She winced and clenched her teeth, ready for the blow. Lucio continued, “I’m mad because you ran off before I could finish you. I only got a taste of your orgasm before you took it away from me. Yeah, that kinda pisses me off.”

Just as Morand’s lips parted on a surprised breath, Lucio kept going. “You’re probably afraid I’m gonna get mad because you shapeshifted, but I’m not. Honestly, it was pretty sexy, but if you ever run away from me in the middle of sixty-nining again, I’ll make a law stating that you get punished with sixty-nine lashes. Naked. With my bare hand. On top of a spanking bench.”

The image that put in her mind made her sex clench. She could see herself bent over the kitchen table as Lucio smacked her ass raw. Wait. Did he say spanking bench? The Count had a bench specifically made for spanking? She whispered, “Oh, fuck me.”

“I was trying to. You said I wasn’t allowed,” he pouted. “Mor, please, open the door. I… I’m asking.”

The magician’s heart was twisting. It was flipping and flopping for this ridiculous excuse for a grown man. Running fingers through her hair, she peered into the mirror at her reflection.

Her wide jaw and thicker brows were attractive. She had a strong, defined set of cheekbones that almost made her look like a brawler, and her body, though not as lean as Lucio’s, was just as powerful. Lucio had made her feel sexy as a woman, had accepted her first transition with an addictive kiss. Could Lucio… make Morand feel sexy as a man, too?

* * *

Clearing his throat, Moren knew he was a good looking guy. He was just a little insecure romantically. The idea of someone accepting him as a her and her as a him was bewildering. No one had ever tried before, so why would someone start trying now? Was Moren actually admitting his crush might be more than a crush?

With a shake of the head, Moren reached into the medicine cabinet to snatch a queue tie and twisted his hair into a messy ponytail. Satisfied with that, he cracked open the bathroom door. Lucio was leaned up against it. The man fell onto Moren’s long leg before jolting back right.

At first, his eyes widened at the sight of the magician. Then, they grew heavy lidded. “You look perfect.”

Though the words warmed Moren, they didn’t completely soothe the anxiety in his heart. It was hard to be naked around other people. He’d faced brutal rejection before, knew how to handle it—with fangs bared and rage—but this kindness made him wary, like a prey animal being led out of the woods with tasty food.

He wanted to believe Lucio was attracted to him, to Moren and Morand, not just the way his body could shift forms. Surprisingly, the Count wasn’t looking at him any differently. He didn’t react to Moren’s form with much more than a raised brow that disappeared as soon as it’d come.

What had gotten that brow to raise? Had he been assessing Moren’s features? He wasn’t insecure about Moren’s size. Was he? Their cocks were about the same, Moren’s being thicker and possibly a little longer. But Lucio’s eyebrow had risen.

What was it? Whatwasit?  _ Whatwasit?!  _ Moren needed to know!

As if nothing had happened, Lucio held up his procured plate. Moren had to stifle a frown at the sight of it. Yes, he knew the Count had a sweet tooth but dripping caramel all over the cookies until there was a fine, gooey layer was serious dedication. “Want one?” Lucio offered.

“That’s a lot of caramel.”

Lucio’s eyes got wide with glee. “I know! Go on. Thank me. I’m a genius.”

Taking a sticky heap, Moren grinned. “Thank you.”  _ For more than just the cookies. For seeming to accept me. For not hating me. For lifting your cute ass up in the air because you had no idea where the plates were. _

On his own bite, Lucio sighed. “Mmm. So delicious. Like eating every piece of candy in the Palace.”

Moren exhaled in relief. That was one good thing, at least. Considering how much of the batter he’d been forced to wing, the magician was glad the cookies were edible, let alone tasty. As Moren thoughtfully chewed his, the Count was diving into his second.

Raising it up to the magician, Lucio smiled. “Cheers, Moren. To being alive and to tasty cookies.”

He hit his cookie against Lucio’s. “Cheers.” He took a bite, trying to enjoy the taste of chocolate, marshmallow, and caramel, but his head was somewhere else. After swallowing, Moren attempted to speak.

Lucio held up a finger to stop him. “Ah-ah. We’re not going there. These cookies are too good to eat with serious conversation.”

“But we need to talk about—”

The Count put his cookie down on the plate and looked at Moren as if he’d lost his mind. “Do we need to talk about it, Mor? Because from where I sit, I have a handsome, sexy magician naked on the floor beside me and a plate of piping hot cookies covered in caramel sauce. You grew a dick. So what? I happen to like dick.”

“So you aren’t bothered that I changed?”

Lucio picked up a cookie and shoved it in Moren’s open mouth. “I’m bothered that you’re ruining my post-orgasm glow.” After positioning himself between Moren’s spread legs, Lucio got in the magician’s face. “Can we pretend we’re happy? Just for now? Please?”

Given all that had gone on since they’d been together, that request sounded more than reasonable. Trying to push back past worries, Moren nodded at Lucio.

Their next few moments were comfortable. There wasn’t much sound except for the slipping of cooling caramel and the gooey crunch of muted chewing. While Moren was working on his second cookie, Lucio was already on his fifth. Bite by bite, the cookies on their plate dwindled.

In time, Lucio leaned back and rubbed his stomach. “Oof, I want more but…”

Moren laughed softly. “The cookies will keep. Don’t make yourself sick.”

Lucio gazed up at him with big, pleading eyes. “That’s the problem, Moren. I don’t care about getting sick if it’s from cookies.”

He held up his fingertips to lick them clean. Outside, there was a loud boom. Crackling sounded off behind it, and Moren looked out a window to see rays of colors raining towards the city streets. The shop windows rattled.

Jerking, Lucio barked, “What was that?”

Moren shrugged a shoulder. “It sounds like people are partying early.”

“Partying!” The Count got to his feet instantly. He was about to run down the stairs, but Moren threw his pants at him. They smacked Lucio in the back.

“Whoa! Pants first. Party second,” he shouted.

“The Masquerade hasn’t even started yet!” Lucio howled while leaping into his clothing.

Moren snickered, “That hasn’t stopped anyone before.”


	21. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiiive! So, update. I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth and into the void of space. News though, my man creature is now healed (mostly) from his surgery, and things have returned to normal. I'm going to have to do a lot of catching up seeing that the Arcana updated Lucio's route and I'm still super behind on making additional chapters. Also, thank you so much for following this story. I really appreciated seeing those kudos emails while I was taking care of Man Creature. Jot down a comment if you want to!

Mine

By the time Moren reached the first floor, Lucio had dramatically thrown open the door. His cape billowed when he strode onto the street. Wide eyes took in the sights.

Under rainbow flashes of fireworks, Lucio’s irises glittered. Children ran by him with sparkling streamers. When a person staggered by with a massive keg strapped to their back, Lucio’s lips made a heartstopping grin.

“Get yer drinks ‘fore the Masquerade!” the ale dealer howled. “Cheap n’ strong, guaranteed!”

Turning back to Moren, Lucio purred, “Oh, I like your neighborhood.” Then, he held up a hand to flag down the keg bearer. “You there! I’ll take two tankards.”

“Fine,” they responded. “‘S your liver.” Twisting around, the ale dealer sat the keg down and took two tankards off an iron hook nailed to the side of the keg. After twisting the tap on, they poured the containers full of amber colored liquid.

Grinning all over himself, Lucio reached for Moren’s hand to drag the magician into the impromptu street party. He winked back at Moren. “Nothing wrong with getting an early start on the Masquerade, right?”

Though Moren could come up with a few hundred reasons why that statement was problematic, he didn’t voice a single one. Lucio had just been brought back from the… mostly dead. Moren might be a zombie. Besides, they’d made a promise. They were going to pretend they were happy.

Snatching up his cup, Moren popped it against Lucio’s in a cheer. “To the Masquerade then!” He was about to tip his drink back when the dealer coughed loudly. Fuschia eyes shifted that way, and Moren gave a guilty grin.

“Yer lucky I like you, Moren. Two on the house, but that’s just ‘cause yer a loyal customer.” They looked Lucio up and down. “I dunno about you, but I’m thinking yer friend here ought to lose the costume. Feller’s the spittin’ image of the late Count.”

Almost choking on his drink, Moren watched Lucio’s big mouth open wide. Before the Count could state his authenticity, Moren grabbed his hand. “You really think so? He thought it’d be fun to go out as Lucio. We haven’t had a Masquerade since his death. It’s a little homage.”

“Do as ye will, but don’t go takin’ him to South End. They’ll eat him alive,” the dealer warned.

Nodding profusely, Moren squired Lucio back to the shop. He backed the Count all the way inside before slamming the door shut. As expected, Lucio was ruffled. “Of course, I’m the spitting image of Count Lucio!” he yapped. “I am Count Lucio.”

Moren put his hands on the Count’s shoulders to direct him up the stairs. As he pushed, he explained, “Yes, but not everyone liked Count Lucio. And the general consensus is that you’re dead. Remember?”

“But I’m not dead. It was an  _ oopsie!” _ Lucio looked over his shoulder at Moren. “More importantly, everyone does, too, love me.”

Moren frowned at the Count. When Lucio slowed his steps, the men almost tripped upwards. Carefully, Lucio corrected, “Okay then, most of everyone…” His words filtered on Moren’s scowl. “A lot of everyone?” Moren shook his head, and Lucio’s shoulders slumped. In a small voice, he whispered, “Did no one love me?”

Soothingly, Moren stroked the Count’s shoulders. They made it to the bedroom where the magician sat Lucio down. As he pouted, Moren went to his closet. Feeling the dumbest need to comfort the man, Moren explained, “The rich did. The… drunks did. Your jurisdiction allowed for the rich to get richer and…”  _ The poor to get poorer. _

Uncomfortable, Lucio played with his fingertips. “I always thought that people liked me. I had fans, you know. People that always showed up to see me.”

_ Because you had money and power. You could get them what they wanted. They used you.  _ Moren didn’t say the words aloud, but they banged around in his head like loose marbles.

Suddenly, an idea struck. Pulling out a shirt Moren was sure would fit the Count, he hung it on a wooden post mounted in the wall. “How about we act as spies, then?”

Lucio blinked at him.

“We can go around the city tonight and observe what people thought of the late Count Lucio. You could learn something about the city, the people. We can collect information while pregaming for the Masquerade.”

The Count’s dark brows drew inwards, and for a few seconds, he scrutinized Moren. “You’re managing me with a party?” Huh. He had actually picked up on Moren’s tactics this time. That was a surprise.

Giving Lucio a pained expression that read, “Well, yeah,” Moren went back to looking for pants. He doubted he’d have anything that Lucio liked, but that was a good thing. If Lucio didn’t dress like Lucio, people wouldn’t whisper that the Count walked amongst them.

Still, Moren and Lucio’s tastes weren’t exactly similar. Lucio wore fitted clothes, Moren not so much. The Count enjoyed wearing extravagant outfits begotten of flair and expense. Moren liked clothing he could wear regardless of an unintended shapeshift.

Perplexed at how he was going to get the Count into a baggy shirt and loose legged palazzo pants, Moren scratched his head. In time, he selected a second shirt to go with the first then pulled a few different pairs of pants from a dresser.

“So, here’s some stuff to choose from. I don’t have a lot that I think you’ll even want, but unless you want to dig through Asra’s clothing, this is the best I got.” Moren drew his shirt up over his head.

When he set off for the door, Lucio turned to him quizzically. “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom. I ran all over town to find you, so I’m way past due for a bath.” He smirked. “What? Do I have to dress you now, too?”

“Promise?”

Moren’s head leaned back in a single boom of a laugh. Tossing his shirt in Lucio’s face, he retorted, “I’m sure you can remember how clothes work. It’s only been three years.” He shook his head. “Goodbye, Lucio.”

* * *

When the magician left the room, Lucio put a hand on one hip. Did the man simply not understand a good sense of dramatic flair? All of his clothes were loose, flowey. As good as they looked on Moren, the Count highly doubted any of this attire would suit his tastes.

Picking up one of the less colorful shirts that Moren had pulled out for him, Lucio was struck anew by just how good the magician smelled. His laundry was floral scented, herbal. When Lucio brought the shirt to his face, he felt transported into a garden covered in green vines and curling leaves.

It made sense. From the first floor to the upstairs, Moren had the entire house decorated in flowers, strange vegetables, and herbs. For the first time, Lucio was hit with how much he didn’t know about the magician.

Yes, he adored the man’s body, scent, and personality, but other than that… He had no clue what Moren was really like. Strangely, that bothered Lucio.

Putting his fashion sense aside, he undressed. He tossed his armor on Moren’s unmade bed. Quilts had been tucked underneath a mattress laid atop wooden slats. They were patchworked with all kinds of tribal symbols much like those that ran up and down the magician. Those symbols were important to him. Lucio wanted to know why.

The shirt he’d buried his face inside of fit easily on Lucio. It had a wide V in the front that showed off his chest the way he liked. Thin, golden strings were braided in a criss crossing pattern before looping into the folds of a wide collar. He just wished that Moren had a mirror he could use to see if the outfit looked good. He didn’t want to traipse around Vesuvia without some semblance of status. He’d worked too hard for that kind of thing.

Lucio was rummaging through Moren’s drawers to find tighter pants when the magician’s shadow fell into the room. As the Count turned to look at Moren, he had to adjust his footing—else risk tumbling into the wardrobe door. The magician must have taken some clothes with him because he looked positively striking.

Wearing a loose vest with nothing underneath, Moren’s ink was displayed like a work of art. A pair of decorative pauldrons laid over the tops of his shoulders before revealing his strong arms, but what really stole Lucio’s attention was the way the magician had his hair. He wore it completely loose before braiding two lengths down the side of his face. They then twisted into a larger braid that fell down his back.

The urge to play with Moren’s soft hair was undeniable until the magician apologized, “Sorry about my choices. I like to keep things simple. Ya know, in case I shift.”

“No! It’s not a problem at all. You just, ah… Yeah, you look amazing.”

“Heh. Thanks.” Strolling across the hall, Moren posted up on the entry. He wore a wide sash across his waist. His vest was tucked into it, and the sash flitted just above the floor on one end. “So are you just not gonna wear pants when we go out or…”

Abruptly, Lucio’s chin sailed downwards. Sure enough, he was standing half naked in the middle of Moren’s bedroom. His pale legs were so white in the dim candlelight, and the baggy shirt he wore covered up all but the slope where his backside curved towards his thighs.

Smirking from where he leaned against the doorframe, Moren teased, “Because if you’re trying to make it a fashion statement, I’m not complaining.”

On a laugh, Lucio turned back to the wardrobe but not before giving his ass a little shake towards the magician. “I’ll leave the assless chaps for the bedroom. Actually, do you have any… tighter pants?”

“Asra probably does. Scooch over.” A hip bumped against Lucio’s when Moren came closer. He crouched down and rummaged in a new drawer. Much like the other ones, the clothing inside was multicolored and flowing. Soon, Moren found a pair of soft leather pants in a shade of brown. Golden studs ran down the sides. “Ah, ha!”

While Moren was admiring his new discovery, Lucio was pursing his lips. He had only seen one bedroom since they’d been in here. There was only one bed, and Asra’s clothes were in Moren’s drawers. No. The Count did not like that at all.

After Moren handed the pants off to Lucio, he mindlessly put them on. Did Asra and Moren sleep together? The image of Moren’s body beneath Asra’s lean form swept through Lucio’s head before he could stop it. Had Moren ever gasped on Asra’s tongue like he had with the Count? Did the apprentice slam Asra down and ride him as he had with Lucio?

The mental images made Lucio’s jaws snap down tight. He wouldn’t be sharing Moren with anyone. The magician was his magician.

Irritably, he looked to where Moren had found a golden rope that matched the ties on Lucio’s shirt. As he walked towards the Count, the other man explained, “If we add this, I think your outfit will look—Mph!”

Lucio didn’t even try to stop himself from kissing the magician. Fisting his hands in Moren’s long hair, he held the man firmly in his grasp. Moren would be going nowhere without Count Lucio at his side. He’d guard him like a gods damned dog if he had to, anything to secure the magician for his own.

Snarling into the contact, Lucio finally pulled back. His upper lip curled, and he spoke, “You’re mine, Moren. Do you understand me?”

Confused, the magician’s brows drew towards each other. His lips were turned red from the punishing kiss Lucio had laid onto him, yet he nodded his head. “Yours,” Moren whispered.

With two hands on Moren’s shoulders, the Count angled his body back to look the man in the eyes. “Only mine. You can’t have anyone else.”

Seeming to wake from a daze, the magician shook his head. “Lucio, where is this coming from?”

Lucio didn’t reply. He instead chose to cross arms over his chest and scowl at the messy bed. It was far too easy to see Moren on his knees over a naked Asra, inching himself slowly towards his master. Unconsciously, he growled. His upper lip curled tightly towards the twisted bedsheets.

There was no biting his tongue any more. Without looking at Moren, Lucio hissed, “I saw you in the magical realms. You kissed Asra, and I wasn’t even a few feet away. Is that what all this is about? You play with me but go back to your master when you finally get bored?”

“What the hell, Lucio?” Moren spoke softly. He went to put a hand on the Count’s shoulder, but Lucio shrugged him off.

“One bedroom. One bed. The two of you have your clothes in the same fucking dresser. The rest of Vesuvia may as well hate me, but you…” He bared his teeth at nothing in particular. “But you said you liked me.”

When Moren let out a laugh, Lucio wanted to strangle the other man in the room. Beneath sudden weight, the mattress sloped just out of the Count’s sight. From the corner of the room, the magician snickered, “Wait. You think that me and Asra are a couple?” He laughed again. “This shop used to be my aunt’s. When she died, I inherited the space, took over the rent and kept the store running in her honor. The only reason I have one bed and one bedroom is because that’s the way the house was built.”

Lucio still wasn’t buying it. “And Asra?”

“Yeah, we kissed in the magical realms, but I kiss everyone on the cheek. It’s an Arache custom. As for the clothes….” Moren paused and gestured towards the wardrobe and dresser in the room. “There’s not a lot of storage space. We have to share it else we’d have nowhere to put our stuff.”

Slowly, Lucio turned towards Moren. He was leaned up against the wall where the head of the bed met the room’s border. A teasing grin played along the corners of his mouth like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Where does Asra sleep then?”

Fuschia eyes rolled. “He’s gone half the time, but if it upsets you that much, I do happen to have a couch downstairs.” Moren crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to study the Count. “We’ve slept in the same bed before, but Asra’s like a teacher to me, a mentor, and almost a brother. I don’t know about your culture, but in mine, we don’t have sexual relationships with our brothers.”

Still pouting, Lucio twisted his mouth in perplexity. “But if you had to choose? Me or Asra. Who would it be?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lucio. Do you really have to ask that?” Pink bloomed across Moren’s cheeks, and he glowered towards the plants on the nearby windowsill. “You’d think that what we did downstairs was proof enough that I like you best.”

Lucio’s pale hand appeared on top of the blanket, and Moren raised his long lashes towards the Count’s proud smirk. “I did make you scream. Didn’t I?”

Suddenly, a pillow slammed into Lucio’s face. “Ugh! I take it back. I hate you.”

Tossing the pillow away, Lucio snatched Moren when he tried to run off. A chaste kiss laid against the magician’s full lips. “Oh, you do?”

It took some effort, but Moren finally wriggled out of the Count’s grasp. “Come on. We won’t get anything done if we stay holed up in my bedroom all day.”

“That’s an option?”

“Insufferable.”

He winked. “You know it!”


End file.
